On  The  Indian  Trail 

By 
A.  Lyle  Van  Dyne,  M.D. 


Printed  for  the  Author 

By 
The  Abingdon  Press,  Chicago 


On 


Copyright 

1921 
By  A,  Lyle  Van  Dyne 


Bancroft  Library 


On  The  Indian  Trail 

Written  by  A.  L.  Van  Dyne 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  AWAKENING 

In  the  gray  mists  of  early  dawn,  Ahwaha  awakened  from 
a  strange  dream.  Bending  over  her,  she  had  seen  her 
Indian  mother  and  heard  her  say,  "Daughter,  maybe  you 
found  riches  and  high  position  with  your  white  friends, 
but  you  have  forgotten  your  poor  Indian  mother.  I  loved 
and  nursed  you  for  a  long  time,  Ahwaha,  now  I  am  sad  be 
cause  you  have  forgotten  me." 

Ahwaha  raised  her  slender  body  and  sat  upright  upon  her 
bed.  "Riches  and  honor !"  she  sadly  whispered,  "Ah,  no ! 
dear  mother.  I  found  love  that  has  caused  my  heart  to 
bleed;  I  found  sorrow  and  weakness  and  I  have  found  my 
soul.  I  am  going  back  to  you,  mother,  and  our  people. 
Now  I  know  that  even  Ahwaha  has  work  to  do.  Dr.  Martel 
many  times  said,  'Ahwaha,  you  are  brave  and  strong.'  Yes 
terday  I  saw  them  place  his  ashes  in  the  cold  ground.  Now 
I  have  only  his  kind  words  to  sustain  me." 

At  that  moment  she  recalled  the  little  box  which  the 
doctor  had  given  to  her  on  the  very  night  of  his  sudden, 
terrible  illness. 

"Do  not  open  the  box,  Ahwaha,"  he  had  said,  "until  1 
am  gone." 

Ahwaha  knelt  down  before  the  little  black  trunk  at  the 
foot  of  her  bed  and  reverently  drew  out  the  box  from  be 
neath  piles  of  folded  clothing.  She  felt  that  the  doctor  was 
close  beside  her.  She  lifted  the  cover  and  there  lay  a 
small  white  envelope  addressed  in  his  own  hand — "To 
Ahwaha,  who  has  been  my  comfort  and  support  through 
hours  of  nameless  agony."  Great,  hot  tears  fell  over  the 
little  white  envelope  from  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Indian  girl. 

3 


4  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

Many  minutes  passed  before  she  could  uncover  the  last 
message  from  the  man  she  loved  and  mourned.  Very  tim 
idly  she  drew  out  the  folded  sheet  of  elegant  paper  and 
read  through  her  tears,  "Ahwaha — dear  child  of  Nature: 
You  can  never  know  how  much  you  have  comforted  me. 
You  are  so  calm  and  brave.  After  all,  Ahwaha,  a  loving, 
pure  friendship  is  the  highest  possession  of  this  life.  It 
brings  no  pangs  of  remorse,  no  terrible  complications,  no 
wreckage.  Dear  child,  go  back  to  your  people.  Until  I 
knew  your  heart,  I  thought  the  Indian  a  worthless,  hope 
less  creature.  But  in  you,  Ahwaha,  I  find  a  rare  intelli 
gence,  a  rare  soul,  a  deep,  sensitive,  intricate  nature.  I 
now  believe  that  the  Indian's  great  need  is  to  find  himself. 
Ahwaha,  help  them  as  you  have  helped  me.  May  Heaven 
shower  upon  you  all  the  good  that  can  come  to  any  mortal. 
Accept  the  little  gift  1  here  enclose,  with  my  heart.  — To 
Ahwaha,  from  Eugene  Martel." 

Down  at  the  bottom  of  the  box,  folded  carefully,  in  a 
white  linen  handkerchief  Ahwaha  found  ten  one  hundred 
dollar  bills.  In  all  her  life  she  had  never  seen  so  much 
money.  But  so  deep  was  her  grief  she  could  not  sense  the 
value  of  this  gift.  "I  will  go  back  to  my  people,  as  he 
commanded  me,"  she  sobbed.  "And  with  me  I  take  knowl 
edge  that  cannot  be  imparted  by  books,  for  I  have  learned 
that  success,  and  happiness,  do  not  depend  upon  money, 
nor  talent,  nor  position,  nor  marvelous  personal  gifts,  for 
Dr.  Martel  had  all  these  and  much  more.  Here,  in  this 
magnificent  home,  I  have  witnessed  a  prince  descend  into 
the  depths  of  Hades,  because  the  laws  of  Nature  are  re 
lentless,  unchangeable,  eternal,  and  my  precious  friend 
paid  the  price.  Great  God,  help  me  to  hold  up  the  torch 
of  Truth  to  my  people." 

One  hour  later,  Ahwaha  said  to  a  gaunt,  haggard-eyed 
woman  who  descended  from  the  top  floor,  "I  am  going 
away — going  back  to  my  mother  and  my  father.  I  shall 
leave  to-day." 


THE  AWAKENING  5 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  the  haggard  woman  said, 
"No  doubt  that  is  a  wise  thing  for  you  to  do,  Ahwaha. 
Take  with  you  all  the  furnishings  of  this  room.  There 
are  such  loads  of  stuff  in  this  house  I  do  not  know  what  to 
do  with  it." 

There  were  some  things  in  her  little  room  which  Ahwaha 
loved — a  tiny  writing-desk,  placed  there  by  Dr.  Martel 
when  she  came,  three  small  pictures,  and  a  half  dozen 
books  he  had  put  on  the  walls  and  the  desk.  She  thanked 
the  pale  mistress  of  the  house  between  broken  sobs.  She 
would  take  everything  away  with  her.  It  would  enable  her 
to  transplant  a  bit  of  the  doctor's  life  into  her  Indian  home. 
She  would  build  a  shrine  where  their  spirits  would  meet 
before  this  little  desk.  With  a  feeling  of  reverence  she  re 
moved  the  pretty  curtains  from  the  window,  lifted  the  rug 
from  the  floor,  packed  the  books  and  pictures,  and  one 
small  bust  of  Wagner.  Dr.  Martel  had  placed  the  little 
bust  upon  a  shelf  in  the  corner.  Ahwaha  ran  to  the  room 
where  the  doctor  died.  She  laid  her  head  upon  the  couch 
where  his  had  lain  in  its  last  sleep.  She  closed  her  eyes 
and  whispered,  "I  will  try !  I  am  only  a  poor  Indian  girl, 
but  I  will  try,  and  your  spirit  will  go  with  me  and  sustain 
me."  Hot  tears  fell  from  her  eyes.  Then  suddenly,  she 
said  aloud,  "I  am  weak  and  helpless,  and  the  doctor  called 
me  strong  and  brave.  He  trusted  me  and  leaned  upon  me." 

She  arose  and  said  in  a  firm  voice,  "He  is  not  gone !  He 
is  here !  He  will  walk  beside  me  and  I  shall  hear  his  voice 
because  this  is  a  world  of  our  own  making,  a  world  of 
thought." 

The  pale-faced  woman  had  gone  out  without  bidding 
Ahwaha  farewell,  but  in  the  lower  hall  she  met  the  old 
housekeeper,  who  said,  "Well,  good-by,  little  Indian  girl." 
And  then,  suddenly,  the  door  of  the  great  house  closed 
for  the  last  time  upon  Ahwaha. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  RETURN 

Ahwaha  returned  to  her  Indian  home  on  a  cool,  bright 
spring  day.  There  was  gladness  in  the  air,  and  everything 
looked  fresh  and  green.  Half  an  hour  before  the  train 
reached  the  little  town  adjoining  the  reservation,  a  terrific 
thunderstorm  had  swept  down  from  the  northeast  and  left 
everything  clean  and  sparkling  in  the  sunlight.  It  only 
lasted  a  few  moments,  but  in  that  time  it  had  carried  away 
a  section  of  the  track  and  the  train  was  stalled  just  outside 
and  in  full  view  of  the  village.  Over  the  prairie  the  people 
came  straggling,  curious  to  learn  what  had  happened.  Ah 
waha  sprang  down  into  the  wet  sand  and  the  conductor 
placed  her  hand  baggage  upon  the  ground  beside  her.  At 
that  moment  a  tall,  young  Indian  approached  and  lifting 
his  hat,  inquired  in  low  tones,  "May  I  assist  you  with  your 
baggage,  miss?"  The  man,  although  a  stranger,  belonged 
to  her  people.  That  was  quite  obvious.  Ahwaha  replied, 
"Yes,  you  are  very  kind.  They  did  not  expect  me  home. 
We  live  up  on  the  river  bank.  You  may  go  with  me  beyond 
the  village.  Maybe  father  will  come  to  meet  me.  His  eyes 
are  alert  for  strangers  upon  the  path." 

The  young  man  had  caught  up  the  heavy  luggage  and 
was  swinging  along  with  the  natural  ease  and  grace  of  the 
Red  Man.  Ahwaha  followed  in  silence,  through  the  town 
and  out  across  the  fields  where  the  path  was  flanked  by 
huge  beds  of  blue  crocuses.  As  they  neared  the  river, 
Ahwaha's  companion  turned  and  looked  back,  for  he  no 
longer  heard  her  footsteps.  He  saw  the  Indian  girl  kneel 
ing  upon  the  ground,  with  both  hands  pressed  over  her 
eyes.  Stepping  softly,  Tonto  Cabo  went  back  along  the 
path.  When  he  reached  Ahwaha,  he  stood  staring  at  the 
blue  flowers  until  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  said,  "It  is 


THE  RETURN  7 

nothing,  only  my  friend  loved  the  crocus."  This  was  true, 
but  there  was  something  more.  Ahwaha  had  reached  a 
curve  in  the  path,  from  which  point  she  saw  her  Indian 
home,  and  there  upon  the  doorstep  sat  her  mother,  with  her 
tangled  hair  falling  about  her  shoulders  and  her  bare  feet 
protruding  from  beneath  a  soiled  and  ragged  calico  skirt; 
and  the  poor  girl  cowered  before  this  vision  of  reservation 
life.  But  the  doctor's  face  came  between,  and  suddenly 
all  her  strength  and  courage  returned. 

Tonto  Cabo  was  not  a  reservation  Indian.  He  looked 
upon  the  girl's  daintily  clad  figure  and  into  her  great,  dark 
eyes,  and  understood.  Ahwaha  stammered,  "You  are  kind 
and  good,  but  mother  is  coming  to  help  me.  Go  now." 

She  ran  toward  the  Indian  woman  who  took  her  in  her 
arms  and  held  her  close  to  her  breast.  The  mother  was 
comely  to  look  upon,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  her  outward 
appearance  contrasted  sharply  with  that  of  the  daughter, 
who  had  returned  from  the  great  city  in  smart  attire.  Tonto 
dropped  the  heavy  luggage  in  the  path,  turned  back  and 
glided  along  toward  the  village.  As  he  walked,  he  mused 
— "She  is  the  daughter  of  Chief  Thunder  Bird.  That  is 
well.  I  shall  meet  him  at  nightfall  and  talk  about  the  land 
and  see  his  pretty  daughter."  But  when  the  night 
descended,  and  the  moon  climbed  toward  the  zenith,  Thun 
der  Bird  went  down  the  path  to  meet  Tonto  and  led  him 
to  the  river  bank,  where  they  sat  down  upon  a  mound  of 
earth  and  talked  of  tribal  matters,  far  into  the  night. 

When  they  parted  the  old  Chief  said,  "Yo>u  will  come 
back  in  three  moons.  Then  you  will  see  Ahwaha  and  hear 
her  sing  like  the  birds." 

In  the  morning  Tonto  went  away,  and  to  the  distant 
city  he  carried  the  memory  of  Ahwaha's  beautiful  face  and 
gentle  sadness.  To  the  birds  in  the  city  park  he  whispered, 
"I  will  go  back  and  hear  her  sing." 


8  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

When  the  second  day  dawned,  Ahwaha  was  up  with  the 
birds.  She  saw  the  sun  rise  and  bathe  the  earth  in  rose  and 
gold.  She  heard  a  thousand  bird  voices  hail  the  day.  She 
walked  out  among  the  Indian  shanties;  not  a  window  or 
door  was  open.  "Sealed  up  tight  to  keep  out  this  glorious 
morning  air,  and  light,  and  color,"  Ahwaha  said  aloud. 
Then  she  walked  away  up  the  river,  drinking  in  all  the 
beauty  and  life  poured  out  so  lavishly  about  her.  When 
beyond  the  little  settlement,  she  sang  just  for  the  joy  of 
singing,  just  because  she  felt  herself  a  part  of  the  beautiful 
morning.  Then  slowly  she  retraced  her  steps,  and  as  she 
walked  she  planned  what  she  would  do  to  better  the  life  of 
the  people  existing  in  the  dirty  little  hovels,  without  even 
the  air  and  sunlight,  for  every  opening  was  carefully  fas 
tened.  The  thought  came  to  Ahwaha — "this  life  is  not  the 
normal  life  of  the  Indian.  They  shifted  their  homes  often 
and  the  wind  swept  through  the  lodges  at  will  in  the  old 
times ;  I  see ;  I  know ;  it  all  came  about  through  the  changed 
way  of  living." 

She  went  back  to  the  house,  and  with  her  own  hands 
removed  the  window  from  her  sleeping  room.  The  old 
Chief  had  built  a  substantial  frame  cottage  on  the  bank 
of  the  river  near  the  bridge,  over  which  the  footpath  led 
to  the  little  settlement  in  the  woods.  The  grass  was  a  pale, 
bright  green,  and  the  cottage  had  received  a  fresh  coat 
of  bright,  blue  paint. 

For  two  days  Ahwaha  counseled  with  her  parents;  but 
on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  all  the  Indians  of  the 
little  settlement,  and  some  from  beyond  the  grove  several 
miles  distant,  came  to  a  council-fire  lighted  to  welcome 
Ahwaha.  Beyond  the  river,  the  road  climbed  up  a  steep 
hill.  Near  the  top  of  the  hill  a  path  led  off  to  the  right, 
through  the  woods,  and  into  a  small  clearing.  Here  the 
Indians  had  built  their  shanties  and  log  huts  in  a  circle, 
close  to  the  trees,  on  the  border  of  the  clearing. 


THE  RETURN  9 

In  the  center  the  council-fire  was  built.  Chief  Thunder 
Bird  sat  facing  the  east,  before  the  fire.  At  his  right,  in  a 
semi-circle,  were  huddled  the  men  and  boys.  At  his  left, 
sat  all  the  women  and  children,  with  Ahwaha  nearest  to 
himself.  The  women  had  donned  their  beads  and  trinkets, 
and  allowed  their  hair  to  fall  in  long  braids,  and  Ahwaha 
arrayed  herself  like  all  the  other  maidens.  After  Chief 
Thunder  Bird  had  addressed  the  gathering  in  their  native 
tongue,  the  Indian  girls  sang  and  danced  the  Peace  Dance, 
in  the  weird  light  of  the  council-fire.  Then  Ahwaha  told 
them  of  the  white  man's  ways,  and  of  their  dances,  and 
then  she  said,  "I  have  returned  to  you  with  love  and 
sorrow,  and  peace  and  hope  in  my  heart.  Come  to  me,  dear 
friends.  Perhaps  I  may  help  you.  That  is  my  wish.  I 
have  received  much  light.  I  have  suffered.  I  came  back 
because  a  good  spirit  commanded  me  to  come  to  my  people. 
Much  that  the  white  man  has  is  not  civilization,  but  simply 
commercialism.  We  must  choose  the  good,  the  best.  The 
Indian  race  is  forced  to  let  go  the  old  life.  That  is  gone. 
The  life  we  live  now,  here  on  the  reservation  is  not  so 
good  as  the  old  life — not  so  natural — not  so  clean — not  so 
full  of  romance  and  mystery,  and  hope.  The  change  has 
already  occurred,  and  we  had  nothing  to  do  with  that. 
What  I  say  to  you  is,  Get  the  best  or  we  are  lost.  Health 
and  happiness  are  life's  greatest  gifts." 

"There,  that  will  do,"  Chief  Thunder  Bird  commanded. 
"I  see  our  people  someones  understand  not.  That  much 
heap  good,  but  too  much  said." 

He  beckoned  to  a  tall,  dark  Indian  girl,  and  all  the 
maidens  came  forward  and  laid  upon  the  ground  before 
Ahwaha,  little  gifts  of  beadwork  and  baskets.  Some  were 
useful,  others  ornamental,  but  all  were  fashioned  by  the 
hands  that  bore  them. 

"See,"  continued  Chief  Thunder  Bird,  "this  much  more 
good  than  talk.  Our  children  go  among  the  whites,  then 


10  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

they  come  back  and  speechify.    Sing,  Ahwaha,  sing.    That 
more  good." 

And  while  the  older  women  brought  food  and  served  each 
guest,  Ahwaha  sang  the  songs  she  had  learned  at  Carlisle. 
Then  the  big  fire  burned  low,  and  the  black  shadows 
stretched  far  behind  the  dusky  figures.  The  red  glow 
flared  up  over  the  dark  faces,  died  down,  flamed  up  again, 
and  then  again  more  feebly,  until  there  was  no  light  save 
that  from  the  moon,  and  one  by  one  the  Indians  disap 
peared. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  RESERVATION 

Tonto  came  back;  came  to  counsel  with  Chief  Thunder 
Bird;  came  to  hear  Ahwaha  sing;  came  to  court  the  Wild 
Flower,  who  during  his  absence  had  patiently  tried  to  help 
her  people.  He  found  the  home  of  Thunder  Bird  changed 
from  a  squalid,  dreary  place  into  a  habitation  that  might 
have  held  the  soul  of  an  artist.  Ahwaha  had  made  good  use 
of  the  furnishings  brought  from  the  home  of  her  friend  in 
the  city.  The  low  walls  were  adorned  with  choice  pictures. 
She  had  draped  the  doors  with  old  faded  blankets,  but  they 
were  clean  and  soft-toned  in  color.  She  had  hung  the 
mounted  deer-heads  above  the  doors,  spread  the  Indian 
mats  and  rugs  where  the  colors  blended  best,  made  with 
her  own  hands  a  book-rack,  placed  it  against  the  wall  of 
the  living-room  and  filled  it  with  books.  She  had  made  a 
den  for  Chief  Thunder  Bird,  decorated  with  Indian  relics, 
where  the  old  Chief  could  smoke  and  dream  and  relate  his 
old-time  stories. 

When  Tonto  first  visited  Chief  Thunder  Bird,  not  a 
tree,  or  shrub,  or  flower,  grew  about  the  house.  Now  the 
whole  place  was  abloom  with  green  and  flowering  things, 
and  here  and  there  young  trees  were  planted.  At  the  rear 
of  the  dwelling,  a  big  vegetable  garden  flourished.  Ahwaha 
had  also  purchased  a  cow  and  a  large  flock  of  chickens. 
"Bravo,"  cried  Tonto,  "someone  is  thinking,  someone  is 
working,  about  this  place,  and  the  result  is  wonderful." 
"I  bought  the  chickens,"  Ahwaha  explained,  "because  the 
old  lady  who  lives  just  beyond  the  bridge  came  home  one 
day  from  the  village  lugging  a  dead  hen,  one  that  had  died 
from  disease  and  been  cast  over  the  fence  by  the  owner. 
I  could  not  prevent  her  eating  that  diseased  fowl,  but  now 
I  give  her  one  every  week,  and  she  weeds  in  the  garden  for 

11 


12  02V  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

a  couple  of  hours  in  payment."  "Fine,  fine!"  cried  Tonto, 
"I  have  found  a  real  Princess — a  woman  who  thinks.  Our 
people  do  not  comprehend  that  without  material  possessions 
one  is  helpless.  We  must  surround  ourselves  with  neces 
sities,  with  comforts,  and  beauty." 

Ahwaha  replied,  "Yes,  even  the  little  squirrels  teach  this 
lesson  of  thrift  and  reserve  supply.  Material  possessions 
give  power  and  prestige.  In  the  old  days  our  people  were 
rich  in  furs,  blankets,  baskets,  etc.  But  a  blight  has  fallen 
upon  them.  Now  poverty  and  helplessness  and  disease  cry 
out  from  all  the  reservation  homes.  It  is  all  because  of 
the  changed  life."  "I  hate  the  Pale  Face,"  Tonto  said. 
Then  he  turned  upon  his  heel,  returned  to  the  house  and 
said  to  Chief  Thunder  Bird,  "You  said  that  I  should  hear 
Ahwaha  sing."  "Yes,  yes,  the  lark  sing  now  but  not  so 
much.  She  think  all  time."  He  called  to  his  daughter  and 
from  a  peg  on  the  wall  she  took  down  the  old  guitar  and 
sang,  low,  sad,  minor  melodies.  Then  she  and  Tonto  sang 
together.  They  sang  the  old  songs  they  had  learned  at 
Carlisle,  afterward  they  talked  of  their  old  school  days.  "O, 
those  were  glorious  days,"  Ahwaha  murmured,  "and  the 
good  Dr.  Nachita,  was  he  there  at  that  time?  Did  you 
know  him?"  Tonto  eagerly  questioned.  "Yes,  I  never  could 
forget  Dr.  Nachita.  He  gave  us  the  pills  and  powders  and 
said,  'Take  care  of  yourself.  Don't  get  sick.  Understand, 
if  you  do,  I  must  give  you  bad  medicine.'  We  owe  much 
to  Carlisle."  Chief  Thunder  Bird  beckoned  Tonto  and 
again  they  went  to  a  lonely  spot  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
where  they  remained  until  the  sun  had  set  and  the  big  moon 
sailed  out  into  the  blue  heavens. 

On  the  following  morning  the  east  was  flushed  with  pink 
and  gold,  and  the  long,  gray  shadows  lay  over  the  green 
earth,  when  Tonto  rowed  up  the  river  from  the  village.  At 
the  bridge  he  ran  the  nose  of  his  canoe  on  the  bank  and 
waited — not  long — for  Ahwaha  was  watching  and  ran  down 
the  hillside  and  stepped  into  the  bow  of  the  boat.  Chief 


THE  RESERVATION  13 

Thunder  Bird  had  given  permission  for  them  to  go  up-stream 
and  pass  the  day  at  the  agency,  several  miles  north  from  his 
little  settlement.  For  a  long  time  no  word  passed  between  the 
man  and  woman  in  the  boat.  They  listened  to  the  swish 
of  the  oars  through  the  water,  and  the  voices  of  the  birds. 
They  watched  the  banks  of  rose,  and  gray,  and  gold  clouds 
piled  up  in  the  east.  The  river  was  fringed  with  silver 
poplars  and  willows  and  pines.  The  current  was  not  rapid. 
Tonto's  arms  were  long  and  sinewy  and  the  canoe  sped 
swiftly  onward  until  they  reached  a  little  cove  filled  with 
white  lilies,  and  little  green,  boggy  tufts,  or  hillocks.  Tonto 
turned  the  boat  into  this  harbor  away  from  the  current  of 
the  stream  and  there  rested  for  a  time,  while  Wild  Flower 
broke  the  lilies  from  the  stalks  and  laid  them  at  her  feet 
in  the  canoe.  Few  words  had  passed  between  them,  for  all 
nature  was  singing  to  them  in  soft,  clear  tones.  The  little 
yellow  and  blue  warblers  and  the  cat-bird  filled  the  air  with 
sweet  sounds,  and  the  flowers  shook  their  heads  and  filled 
the  air  with  fragrance.  The  blue  sky  and  the  fleecy  white 
clouds  said,  "Come  up  higher  where  the  air  is  clear  and 
cool,"  but  the  canoe  rocked  upon  the  water,  and  Tonto  said, 
"Wild  Flower,  are  you  happy  here  among  your  people?" 
"Well,"  the  girl  replied,  "everything  is  beautiful.  Every 
thing  is  harmonious  and  full  of  life  and  joy  except  the 
people.  Tonto,  my  heart  is  heavy.  Something  is  wrong.  I 
do  not  understand.  They  dance  and  shout  and  laugh,  but 
it  is  not  for  joy.  It  is  for  diversion,  to  forget  their 
utterly  hopeless  condition." 

Tonto  looked  into  the  eyes  of  Ahwaha  and  felt  that  a 
great  change  was  taking  place  in  her.  "Come  away  from 
this  place,  Wild  Flower,"  he  whispered,  "come  back  to  the 
city.  Come  with  me  and  be  my  song-bird  and  I  will  make 
you  happy,  child."  She  pulled  the  white  petals  from  a  full 
blown  lily  and  threw  them  into  the  water.  She  watched 
them  float  beyond  her  reach.  Still  she  was  silent.  "You 
have  been  out  into  the  big  world  where  people  think  and 


14  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

act  for  themselves.  You  cannot  live  here.  Wild  Flower. 
The  social  and  mental  atmosphere  will  stifle  you."  "Ah, 
Tonto,"  the  girl  replied,  "what  you  say  is  true,  but  I  gave 
my  promise  and  it  is  sacred.  Then,  too,  mother  is  far  from 
well.  She  sits  silent  and  motionless  for  hours.  She  never 
speaks  with  strangers,  and  her  words  are  few  when  alone 
with  the  family.  She  has  a  wasting  disease.  I  cannot  leave 
her.  I  have  a  double  trust.  When  you  come  again, 
Tonto,  I  will  give  you  my  answer.  My  life  here  is  very 
busy.  I  find  much  to  accomplish,  but  I  stand  apart  from 
my  own  people.  They  look  upon  me  as  one  out  of  sympathy 
with  their  interests,  one  trying  to  teach  them  new  tricks. 
Many  times  I  find  it  necessary  to  do  as  they  do  in  order 
to  have  the  least  influence  with  them  or  be  admitted  into 
their  circle." 

"Yes,  Ahwaha,  I  see  this  change.  They  are  dragging 
you  down  to  their  level  in  speech  and  appearance.  You 
must  come  with  me.  Before  the  snow  falls  I  will  come  back 
and  take  you  to  my  home." 

"O,  Tonto,  we  must  be  going  now.  We  have  lingered  a 
long  time  in  this  pretty  nook." 

A  frightened  look  passed  over  her  face. 

Tonto  grasped  the  oars,  plunged  them  into  the  water, 
pulled  hard  and  steady  and  away  shot  the  canoe  up  stream. 

When  they  reached  the  agency  a  dance  was  in  full  swing. 
Close  to  the  river  where  the  air  was  cool  a  large  company 
of  Indian  men  and  women  were  jumping  and  whirling  upon 
the  bare  ground,  accompanied  by  weird  sounds  from  the 
tom-tom.  On  the  ground  sat  old  women,  with  gay-colored 
blankets  piled  all  about  them.  Others  were  beading  moc 
casins  or  making  finger  rings. 

Tonto  joined  the  dancers,  but  Wild  Flower  lingered 
among  the  baskets  and  purchased  many  pretty  trinkets. 
Afterward  she  made  her  way  to  the  lodge  of  the  great 
medicine  man  and  told  him  of  her  sick  mother.  About  the 


THE  RESERVATION  15 

old,  weather-beaten,  grizzled  Red  Man  there  was  a  wealth 
of  mystery  and  quiet  dignity.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  sat 
in  silence  for  a  long  time,  then  he  spoke  slowly  and  in 
broken,  halting  English:  "Bring  the  sick  one.  Come  to 
my  peote  temple  sick  no  more.  All  gone  pain.  Medicine 
heap  good.  Be  quiet.  Agent  no  like  peote  medicine.  Agent 
doctor  lose  pay  when  medicine  man  make  well." 

Ahwaha  gave  him  two  pieces  of  silver  and  promised  to 
tell  her  mother  all  that  he  had  said.  She  had  kept  her 
promise  to  her  mother.  She  had  consulted  the  Great  Med 
icine  Man,  and  her  doubt  and  distrust  had  increased. 

This  was  the  third  day  of  the  dance,  and  they  expected 
to  keep  on  dancing  for  five  or  six  days  longer.  At  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  down  on  the  river  bank,  beyond  the 
settlement,  the  council  was  called,  just  where  the  ground 
sloped  gently  toward  the  stream  and  the  grass  was  shaded 
by  a  clump  of  silver  poplars. 

A  runner  had  gone  to  the  homes  of  each  one  called  to  sit 
in  the  council,  and  presented  a  small  roll  of  tobacco.  This 
was  a  form  of  invitation  to  the  Big  Smoke.  For  an  hour 
they  sat  or  reclined  upon  the  hillside  and  smoked  in  silence. 
Each  man  brought  with  him  the  little  roll  of  tobacco  pre 
sented  by  the  runner  and  from  these  they  filled  their  pipes. 
Tonto  was  the  son  of  a  noted  Chief  and  accustomed  to 
sitting  in  council.  He  came  as  the  representative  of  his 
own  tribe  and  Thunder  Bird,  who  had  said,  "You  tell  me 
all.  They  only  discuss.  Indian  can't  do  nothing.  Agent 
big  scare.  Me  tired  of  discuss.  No  good.  Indian  must 
stand  by  agent  or  go  to  jail." 

On  the  hillside  they  smoked  for  an  hour,  then  slowly 
and  with  much  show  of  dignity,  an  old  Indian  arose  and 
spoke  only  a  few  words  in  the  native  language.  Very 
slowly  he  resumed  his  seat  upon  the  ground,  and  they  all 
smoked  on  in  silence.  Twenty  minutes  passed  and  then 
another  Indian  arose  and  answered  the  first  speaker.  Tonto 


16  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

did  not  understand  all  that  the  old  men  were  saying,  but 
from  the  interpreter  he  learned  that  the  question  before 
the  council  related  to  a  good  old  Indian — Lone  Dog — who 
had  been  allotted  land  some  twenty  years  previously.  Two 
years  after  said  allottment  the  agent  said  to  Lone  Dog, 
"You  have  two  children.  Why  not  have  them  allotted?" 
"Ugh!  no!"  replied  Lone  Dog.  "Law  say  he  must  be 
twenty-one  year  old  and  head  of  fam.  No !  no !" 

Three  months  later  the  dishonest  agent  brought  Lone 
Dog  the  allottment  papers  for  his  children,  and  thrust  them 
upon  him.  After  some  parley  Lone  Dog,  fearing  the  dis 
pleasure  of  the  agent,  accepted  the  papers.  Later  the  agent 
sent  a  buyer  from  a  lumbering  firm  to  the  old  Indian  to 
arrange  for  the  purchase  of  the  timber  upon  his  land  and 
that  of  the  children. 

The  agent  resigned.  A  new  agent  came  and  now  Lone 
Dog  has  been  notified  that  the  land  of  his  children  would 
be  taken  from  him.  The  transaction  was  illegal.  Lone 
Dog  had  built  his  home  upon  the  land  of  his  children. 
They  both  had  died  long  ago,  and  he  had  sold  his  personal 
allottment.  The  old  Indian  was  now  about  to  become 
homeless  and  penniless. 

The  Indians  smoked  their  pipes,  refilled  them  and  smoked 
and  discussed,  and  when  at  sunset  Tonto  and  Wild  Flower 
waved  farewell  to  the  dancers,  the  council  was  still  dis 
cussing  Lone  Dog's  misfortune,  and  the  rascal  agent  who 
had  assisted  the  lumber  firm  to  unlawfully  secure  the  tim 
ber.  What  could  be  done?  Indians  are  not  allowed  to 
employ  attorneys  to  represent  them  without  permission  from 
the  commissioner  of  Indian  affairs.  Lone  Dog  could  not 
read,  write  nor  speak  English,  and  the  bad  agent  was  gone, 
no  one  knew  where.  They  could  discuss  and  that  was  all. 
"Education  in  civil  government  and  the  English  language 
is  sorely  needed  by  our  older  people,"  Tonto  said,  as  the 
boat  drifted  away  down  stream.  "Going  back  to  the 


THE  RESERVATION  17 

starting  point  with  the  current  is  play.  We  were  a  long 
time  pulling  up  stream,  Wild  Flower,  but  watch  the  trees 
hurrying  past  us  now." 

The  moon  cast  a  pale,  white  light  over  the  earth.  The 
night  was  still  and  calm.  Ahwaha  looked  away  into  the 
clouds,  but  she  was  thinking  of  Tonto's  words.  "Yes,  the 
boat  glides  down  stream  silently  and  swiftly,  and,  Tonto, 
I  am  thinking  of  the  Indians.  They,  too,  are  drifting  down 
stream.  No  one  offers  any  resistance.  They  cannot  think  for 
themselves.  They  can  only  obey  or  fool  the  agent.  This 
whole  life  breeds  deception.  At  the  agency  they  seemed 
very  happy,  but  some  of  them  came  a  long  distance  to  the 
dance.  And  what  about  their  crops  and  their  cattle?  A 
dance  that  lasts  eight  and  ten  days  must  interfere  with  the 
support  of  the  family,  to  say  nothing  of  the  loss  of  vitality 
and  sleep.  To  me  time  and  strength  and  intelligence  are 
valuable.  The  Indians  get  their  pittance  from  the  govern 
ment  and  they  are  carefree." 

"Come  away  from  all  this,  Wild  Flower,"  Tonto  pleaded, 
"This  is  not  the  place  for  you.  The  sky  and  the  air  and 
the  birds  and  the  flowers  are  all  beautiful,  but  commercial 
ism  in  varied  forms  has  changed  the  Red  Man.  Come  with 
me.  Wild  Flower.  I  cannot  let  you  live  and  die  here. 
Come,  be  my  bride.  Come,  help  me  out  in  the  great  world, 
where  there  is  thought  and  action." 

The  canoe  rounded  a  curve  in  the  stream.  The  moon 
light  silted  through  the  trembling  leaves  and  fell  upon  the 
water,  and  there  in  the  shadows  beneath  the  willows,  Ah 
waha  saw  the  pale,  sad  face  of  Eugene  Martel.  "O, 
Tonto,"  she  cried,  "I  know  why  many  people  believe  in  the 
return  of  spirits.  Out  from  our  grief  and  love  we  visualize 
the  old  scenes  and  the  dear  faces  until  to  us  the  pictures  are 
real  and  we  believe  in  them.  Thoughts,  Tonto,  are  the 
material  out  of  which  we  build  our  world.  Tonto,  I  love 
you,  you  are  kind  and  good.  You  understand  my  heart. 
But  wait  a  little  for  my  answer.  I  must  think." 


18  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

"You  think  of  some  Pale  Face/'  Tonto  cried.  "Yes/' 
replied  the  Indian  girl,  "the  face  I  see  is  the  face  of  a 
white  man;  a  face  from  the  spirit  world;  the  face  of  my 
dear  friend.  Dr.  Martel.  But,  Tonto,  he  was  all  that  the 
Indian  could  he.  His  heart  was  noble  and  tender.  His 
eyes  saw  all  that  was  beautiful  and  he  was  loyal.  Loyal 
to  a  fault.  Yes,  Tonto,  he  was  loyal.  He  had  absorbed 
the  culture  of  all  people,  and  yet  he  failed  miserably, 
wretchedly  x  because  he  defied  natural  law.  Often  he  said, 
'I  care  nothing  about  food.  I  may^eat  if  I  choose  or  I  may 
not  eat.  I  may  sleep  or  not  sleep.  It  matters  not.  The 
mind  rules.'  But,  Tonto,  I  know  now  that  everything  is 
governed  by  fixed  laws,  and  it  is  our  business  to  know  the 
application  of  these  laws.  Dr.  Martel's  noble  spirit  could 
no  longer  dwell  in  such  a  habitation." 

"What  was  the  matter  with  him?"  Tonto  asked  with  a 
shade  of  impatience.  "An  evil  spirit  must  have  led  him 
to  use  morphine.  Now,  I  know  that  the  real  enemies  are 
crouching  in  the  realm  of  thought,  ready  to  slay  us,  Tonto. 
Dr.  Martel  said,  'Until  I  knew  you,  Ahwaha,  I  always 
thought  the  Indians  were  picturesque,  seen  at  a  distance.  I 
thought  they  decorated  the  landscape  in  a  wild  fantastic 
way.  I  had  been  told  that  they  were  very  dangerous,  and 
bad.  But  now  I  know  that  you,  dear  child,  possess  all  that 
is  best  in  the  white  race.'  Tonto,  the  thing  the  whole  world 
needs  most  is  more  truth  regarding  fundamentals.  Knowl 
edge  would  do  away  with  segregated  spots  like  the  Indian 
Reservation.  The  Indian  has  the  crude  material,  but  he 
barters  away  his  birthright,  when  he  neglects  the  training 
of  his  intellect." 

The  canoe  neared  the  bridge  by  Chief  Thunder  Bird's 
home.  Tonto  brought  the  little  craft  to  land,  sprang  out 
and  carefully  assisted  Wild  Flower  to  gain  the  mossy  bank 
that  sloped  abruptly  up  from  the  water.  Meanwhile  he 
said,  "That  is  fine  talk,  all  true,  Wild  Flower,  but  it  tires 


THE  RESERVATION  19 

the  brain  and  makes  you  sick.  Come  with  me  away  from 
this  dull  place  where  no  one  will,  or  can  understand  you.  I 
am  going  in  the  morning.  Come  with  me,  Wild  Flower." 

She  looked  across  the  river  toward  the  group  of  filthy 
huts  she  knew  were  nestling  there  among  the  trees.  She 
thought  of  the  dull,  vapid,  empty,  aimless  life  of  the  people. 
To  her  it  seemed  a  long,  drawn-out  struggle  with  death. 
"Tonto,"  she  whispered,  "I  will  go  but  not  now.  Come 
back,  Tonto.  I  shall  count  the  days  until  we  meet  again 
and  I  will  keep  on  trying  to  help  the  Indians." 

Tonto  drew  Ahwaha  to  him  and  reverently  kissed  her 
forehead.  "The  name  is  wrong,"  he  whispered,  "you  are 
the  beautiful  white  rose  that  grows  in  the  great  gardens, 
watched  and  tended  with  loving  care.  You  are  too  frail 
for  this  place.  Wild  Flower.  What  can  anyone  do  for 
the  Indians  in  this  environment?  They  are  not  as  fortunate 
as  the  squirrels.  Over  yonder  is  the  white  man  who  wants 
to  sell  the  Indian  whiskey.  Yonder  is  the  fellow  who  wants 
the  Indian's  timber.  Down  there  is  one  who  wants  to  sell 
him  bad  meat,  cheap  tobacco,  etc.  Another  steals  fire  wood 
from  the  Indian  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  they  all  despise 
him,  for  his  shiftless  habits,  dreamy  moods,  ignorance,  and 
cautiousness.  You  must  leave  this  place,  Wild  Flower, 
before  the  bad  weather  sets  in,  but  teach  them  all  you  can, 
especially  to  speak  English  and  to  think.  To  think,  Ah 
waha,  that  is  the  greatest  thing  for  any  human  being.  The 
people  who  think  cannot  be  enslaved." 

When  Wild  Flower  awoke  on  the  following  morning  the 
sunlight  streamed  through  her  window  and  flooded  the 
whole  room.  She  felt  lonely,  for  Tonto  was  gone  and 
she  would  not  see  him  for  a  long  time;  but  she  sprang  up 
and  went  about  the  business  of  the  day  with  new  courage. 
She  persuaded  her  mother  to  go  outside  and  sit  in  the  sun 
light.  "Mother,  dear,"  she  pleaded,  "there  is  no  life  with 
out  sunlight,  no  vegetation,  no  growth  of  any  sort.  We 


20  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

cannot  afford  to  cheat  ourselves  by  hiding  away  from  the 
sunlight.  There  is  no  life  without  oxygen.  We  cannot 
afford  to  cheat  ourselves  of  the  normal  amount  of  fresh 
air,  and,  mother,  these  are  absolutely  free." 

"Ugh!  ugh!"  wailed  the  old  woman,  "me  see  the  big 
Medicine  Man."  But  she  was  too  weak  to  make  the  jour 
ney  to  the  agency,  so  Chief  Thunder  Bird  brought  the 
Medicine  Man,  who  prayed  and  cried  to  the  Bad  Spirit, 
"Be  gone!  be  gone!"  Over  her  body  he  made  strange 
passes  with  his  hands  and  groaned  and  waved  a  sacred 
crow's  foot.  Then  he  sang  and  administered  peote  but 
tons.  This  was  what  Mrs.  Thunder  Bird  had  been  told 
would  make  her  well.  Accordingly,  her  spirits  began  to 
revive,  and  immediately  after  the  administration  of  about 
the  tenth  button  she  declared,  "Me  better.  Me  sleep  now." 

She  slept  and  dreamed  of  strange,  uncanny  spirits,  of  a 
long  journey,  of  fantastic  forms,  and  wild  scenery. 

Late  on  the  following  afternoon  she  awoke  and  called 
Ahwaha  and  Thunder  Bird  to  her  couch.  "I  am  tired,"  she 
said  in  soft  low  tones,  "I  go  to  my  long  sleep.  By  and  by 
I  call  you.  I  call  all  'till  you  come  to  me.  Chief  Thunder 
Bird  good,  Ahwaha  good  child.  All  is  good.  I  not  afraid. 
The  great  spirit  watch  me."  Then  she  straightened  her 
body  out  upon  the  couch,  closed  her  eyes,  and  lay  silent 
and  motionless  until  the  hour  preceding  dawn,  when  her 
spirit  departed  from  the  lodge  of  the  proud  old  chief  and 
the  gentle  Wild  Flower,  Ahwaha. 


CHAPTER  IV 

STARLIGHT;  ANOTHER  TYPE  OF  INDIAN  MAIDEN 
Above  the  blue  lake  lay  the  green  hills.  A  path  zig 
zagged  up  and  down,  in  and  out,  along  the  wooded  shore, 
beneath  a  tangled  growth  of  shrubs  and  vines.  At  a  point 
where  the  path  lay  close  up  to  the  bank,  a  small  canoe 
glided  noiselessly  over  the  water.  A  tall  man  sat  in  the 
little  craft  holding  the  oars  poised  in  the  air.  "Talk  about 
voices,"  he  said  aloud,  "that  has  the  ring  of  a  bird's  voice; 
angel  or  bird,  I 'must  behold  the  owner."  He  rowed  into 
a  nearby  cove,  where  the  foliage  was  dense  and  the  green 
branches  dropped  their  points  down  into  the  blue  water. 
Nearer  came  the  voice,  and  then  ceased.  The  man  bent 
forward  and  listened  for  an  instant  only,  then  he  parted  the 
branches  before  him  and  was  about  to  emerge  upon  the 
path  when  again  he  heard  the  refrain,  "Lo !  Hear  the 
Gentle  Lark!"  This  time  still  nearer.  The  melody  rip 
pled  along  spontaneous  and  free,  like  water  gushing  up 
from  a  spring  in  the  hillside.  The  listener  thought  he  had 
stumbled  upon  an  opera  singer  taking  her  vacation  beside 
the  lake.  On  and  on  flowed  the  rich  melody,  embellished 
by  trills  and  daring  flights  that  rivaled  the  song  of  the 
English  skylark.  Then  suddenly  it  ceased. 

Cassius  Mott  clapped  his  hands  vigorously,  sprang  from 
cover,  and  stood  in  the  path,  facing  a  tall,  slender  Indian 
girl.  A  flash  of  surprise  passed  over  his  face  and  then  he 
cried,  "Glorious !  Glorious !  Where  did  you  learn  to  sing 
like  that,  miss?  It  went  straight  to  my  heart." 

Starlight  shrank  from  the  handsome  white  man  who 
barred  her  path.  The  red  blood  mounted  to  her  cheeks  and 
temples.  She  did  not  answer  his  question,  but  replied  in 
low  tones,  "When  there  is  music  in  the  soul,  it  sings. 
When  there  is  harmony  in  the  soul,  it  registers  sweet 

21 


22  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

sounds."  In  her  eyes  there  was  a  depth  of  mystery, 
hauteur,  and  suspicion.  She  continued,  "I  thought  I  was 
alone  with  the  trees."  For  a  moment  Cassius  stood 
abashed,  then  he  lifted  his  hat,  bowed  low,  and  returned 
to  the  little  canoe.  He  took  up  the  oars  and  said  aloud, 
"She  is  the  daughter  of  an  old-time  Indian,  by  Jove.  They 
were  as  proud  as  kings." 

The  boat  shot  out  upon  the  water,  and  Cassius  began  to 
sing,  "Who  now  will  sail  with  me,  in  my  bark  o'er  the  sea  ?" 

Starlight  walked  on,  but  she  heard  the  white  man's  voice, 
drifting  in  from  the  lake.  It  rang  clear  and  mellow.  She 
listened  for  a  moment,  then  a  look  of  scorn  passed  over  her 
face,  and  she,  too,  said  aloud,  "Once  my  people  possessed 
all  this  beautiful  country.  They  were  powerful  and  happy, 
but  those  insolent  whites  drove  them  back,  back  to  the 
barren  places.  Now  my  people  starve."  She  clinched  her 
fingers  and  went  on,  "But  I  will  succeed.  I  will  master 
Fate.  I  will  have  the  knowledge  that  has  made  the  white 
race  great.  I  will  conquer  Fate." 

That  evening  she  sang  in  the  big  pavilion  that  stood  on 
the  sloping  hillside  above  the  water.  Cassius  Mott  was 
there.  He,  too,  sang,  and  Starlight  heard  the  music  in  his 
voice,  although  she  remained  outwardly  cold  and  silent. 
At  the  close  of  the  meeting  they  met  and  were  formally 
introduced,  and  Cassius  said,  "I  knew  that  we  two  would 
meet  again.  You  could  not  hide  with  such  a  voice.  You 
surely  will  allow  me  to  listen  when  you  sing." 

Ah,  too  well  man  knows  the  art  of  flattery.  Too  well 
he  knows  the  heart  of  woman.  A  fascinating  smile  played 
over  Starlight's  face.  It  was  a  flash  of  the  Indian  girl's 
soul  that  came  to  the  surface.  To  be  appreciated,  to  be 
understood,  to  be  treated  kindly,  was  the  deepest  desire  of 
her  heart. 

Cassius  was  usually  surrounded  by  a  galaxy  of  girls. 
His  handsome  appearance,  elegant  manners,  and  fine  voice, 


STARLIGHT  23 

drew  all  the  susceptible  fair  ones,  and  brought  about  no 
end  of  jealousies.  Starlight  felt  that  a  great  gulf  lay 
between  them.  She  was  an  Indian  girl,  and  Cassius  Mott 
was  a  white  man.  About  herself  she  folded  her  mantle  of 
proud  reserye  more  closely  than  ever,  and  went  her  soli 
tary  way. 

The  next  day  she  returned  to  the  academy  in  the  big 
city  where  she  kept  her  place  at  the  head  of  her  class, 
and  won  honors  in  spite  of  bitter  jealousy.  The  home  of 
Cassius  chanced  to  be  near  by  the  school,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  he  would  drop  in  at  the  musical  gatherings  just 
to  hear  the  Indian  girl  sing,  and  as  the  weeks  passed  he 
learned  that  Starlight  was  an  exceptional  student;  that 
prejudice  had  sprung  up  among  her  classmates,  owing  to 
her  color,  and  gradually  his  attention  became  centered  upon 
the  Indian  girl.  At  first  it  was  a  sense  of  pity  that  he 
felt,  later  a  form  of  pique.  Seldom  it  was  that  any  woman 
remained  wholly  indifferent  to  his  charms,  and  here  was 
an  Indian  girl,  calm,  cold,  and  serene  in  his  presence.  He 
must  fathom  the  mystery.  Starlight  must  be  brought  to  his 
feet,  and  so  it  came  about  that  each  time  she  sang  or 
recited  before  the  academy  gatherings,  a  page  would  come 
tripping  down  the  aisle  bearing  a  huge  bouquet  of  roses, 
with  a  small  white  card  nestling  in  the  center,  bearing  the 
words,  "To  Starlight,  from  one  who  always  listens — from 
one  who  hears.  C.  M." 

By  and  by  they  met  and  sang  together,  and  Cassius 
found  the  pathway  to  the  soul  of  the  Indian  girl.  Their 
voices  mingled  as  one,  and  Starlight's  dark  eyes  glowed  and 
sparkled  with  a  new  light.  No  voice  had  ever  before 
thrilled  her  with  such  perfect  harmony.  She  had  always 
heard  an  element  of  discord  when  her  voice  mingled  with 
others.  To  sing  with  Cassius  was  harmony  divine.  One 
day  when  alone  with  Jane  Condon,  a  classmate,  she  said, 
"Music  takes  me  into  another  world,  and  it  is  hard  for 
me  to  come  back.  It  shocks  my  sensibilities.  If  I  were 


24  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

not  handicapped  by  birth,  I  would  plan  a  career  upon  the 
operatic  stage,  but  now  I  shall  be  a  philosopher,"  Jane 
laughed  aloud,  "Whoever  heard  of  a  woman  philosopher? 
You  will  marry,  as  all  sensible  girls  do,  and  be  content  to 
love  and  be  loved."  Starlight  shook  her  dark  head  and 
resolved  to  devote  herself  more  and  more  to  study  and 
meditation.  But  she  could  not  escape  the  attention  of 
Cassius.  He  was  more  kind,  more  sympathetic,  more  de 
voted,  as  the  days  passed,  until  the  hour  came  when  Star 
light  loved  him  with  all  the  depth  and  power  within  her. 

One  evening  when  they  parted  he  placed  in  her  hand  a 
small  pencil  sketch.  While  she  sang  she  had  wondered 
what  he  was  drawing  upon  the  white  sheet  of  paper.  Cas 
sius  not  only  sang,  but  dabbled  in  law  and  picture-making. 
Starlight  glanced  at  the  scrap  of  paper  and  then  hastily 
concealed  it  from  prying  eyes.  She  had  looked  upon  a 
pretty  cottage  nestling  among  the  trees  and  shrubs.  A 
woman  sat  upon  the  veranda,  holding  a  babe  in  her  arms. 
A  tall  man  upon  the  lawn  among  the  rose  bushes  held  by  the 
hand  a  little  boy.  Above  the  picture  was  written,  "Hark, 
hark  the  Lark,"  and  underneath,  "Our  Home — my  Star- 
light." 

The  Indian  girl  gave  no  outward  sign,  but  her  heart 
struggled  to  be  free  from  restraint,  from  deception,  from 
fear.  Not  long  afterward  occurred  one  of  those  strange 
little  incidents  which  are  really  great.  Cassius  went  with 
Starlight  and  Jane  Condon  for  a  long  drive  in  the  country. 
They  made  the  start  from  a  little  suburban  village.  On 
their  way  back,  at  dusk,  they  were  driving  along  quietly, 
when  out  from  the  shadows  and  clouds  of  dust,  emerged 
a  horse  driven  by  a  man  apparently  intoxicated.  In  an 
instant  a  struggle  was  on  for  the  lead.  Starlight  saw  the 
ditches  upon  either  side.  She  knew  that  just  beyond,  a 
narrow  bridge  spanned  a  culvert.  She  grasped  the  man's 
arm,  and  for  the  first  time  spoke  his  name,  "Cassius,  Cas 
sius,  I  beg  of  you,  be  careful.  There  is  danger."  Her  voice 


STARLIGHT  25 

trembled  and  her  grip  upon  his  arm  was  very  firm.  Cas- 
sius  instantly  reined  his  horse  out,  and  brought  him  back 
upon  his  haunches,  giving  his  rival  the  full  width  of  the 
road.  They  saw  the  buggy  reel  and  pitch  from  side  to 
side,  swing  over  the  culvert,  and  plunge  on  beyond  a  low 
hill.  They  were  rid  of  the  dangerous  horseman  and  then 
Cassius  whispered,  "It  was  worth  a  broken  neck  to  hear  you 
speak  my  name.  Never  again  call  me  Mr.  Mott." 

Starlight  bit  her  lips  in  shame,  but  it  was  done.  Nothing 
could  conceal  the  love  that  escaped  with  that  one  word 
spoken  in  a  moment  of  deep  anxiety.  Jane  began  softly  to 
sing,  "Lo,  Hear  the  Gentle  Lark."  "Yes,  yes/'  said  Cas 
sius,  "the  Gentle  Lark  has  an  adoring  audience,  even  at 
this  late  hour."  Thus  they  journeyed  homeward. 

Starlight  was  happy,  while  the  weeks  and  months  passed. 
Every  one  at  the  academy  predicted  for  her  a  brilliant 
future.  Then  one  dark  night,  when  the  sky  was  heavy  with 
low  hanging  clouds,  Cassius  came  to  the  home  of  Starlight. 
His  manner  was  changed.  About  him  there  was  a  cloak  of 
cautious  restraint.  In  his  eyes  there  was  an  anxious 
troubled  look.  "What  is  it,  Cassius?  You  are  not  your 
self  to-night,"  Starlight  said.  He  sat  down  beside  her, 
took  her  hand  and  spoke  in  that  soft,  winning  voice  that 
thrilled  her  soul.  "Starlight,  you  are  very  dear  to  me. 
You  possess  noble  qualities,  far  beyond  those  of  ordinary 
women.  No  girl  could  claim  greater  respect.  I  really 
must  explain  myself  to-night.  I  have  had  a  very  pleasant 
dream,  but  to-day  I  awakened  to  the  truth.  My  family, 
you  know,  are  very  proud.  They  have  some  grand  old 
ancestors — and — well — to-day  they  came  to  see  me — two  of 
my  most  distinguished  relatives,  and,  Starlight,  they  are 
shocked  by  my  conduct — by  my  attention  to  you.  I  have 
viewed  the  subject  from  various  angles  and  I  guess  they  are 
right.  I  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be 
an  injustice  for  me  to  marry  outside  of  my  circle." 


26  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

The  dark  eyes  of  the  Indian  girl  contracted.  Her  face 
took  on  an  ashen  tinge.  She  did  not  speak,  nor  look 
toward  the  man  who  had  thus  stabbed  her.  She  silently 
glided  from  the  room,  closed  the  door  very  gently,  while 
she  walked  as  one  asleep.  The  curtain  had  been  lowered 
upon  their  love  scene.  Cassius  waited  a  long  time  for  the 
return  of  the  Indian  girl,  and  then  he  hurried  out  into  the 
night,  muttering,  "A  bit  of  unpleasant  business,  but,  by 
Jove,  I  came  through  with  flying  colors." 

Through  the  long  hours  of  that  horrible  night  Starlight 
battled  with  her  grief  and  humiliation.  When  the  morning 
dawned  she  looked  into  her  little  mirror  and  beheld  a  hag 
gard,  ugly  face.  She  lifted  her  clinched  hand  and  shook  it 
at  the  Indian  girl  before  her.  "I  hate  the  Pale  Face,"  she 
said  aloud.  "Death  is  in  my  soul,  but  I  will  live.  I  will  not 
soil  my  hands,  and  I  will  not  be  crushed.  I  will  triumph  over 
every  obstacle.  I  will  forget  and  I  will  help  to  redeem  my 
race.  He  knew  when  first  he  looked  upon  my  face  that  I 
was  an  Indian.  I  did  not  deceive  him.  A  long  time  he 
was  finding  out  that  he  was  too  good  to  marry  an  Indian 
girl.  I  was  indifferent.  He  saw  my  indifference  and  com 
pelled  me  to  love  him.  Now  he  compels  me  to  hate  him. 
He  will  never  know  that  the  heart  of  the  Indian  bleeds.  I 
can  live  without  love.  I  will  master  Fate.  Murder  is  in 
my  heart  but  I  will  not  soil  my  hands  upon  him.  No,  Star 
light  will  live  without  revenge." 

The  days  dragged  on.  At  night  Starlight's  eyes  were 
red  with  weeping,  but  when  she  stepped  from  the  solitude 
of  her  own  little  room,  all  the  calm  stoicism,  all  the  caution 
and  deception  of  the  Indian  was  wrapped  about  her.  From 
the  academy  she  was  graduated  with  highest  honors.  She 
did  not  deign  to  speak  with  members  of  her  class.  She 
stood  apart,  cold,  proud,  silent,  while  all  the  time  in  the 
depths  of  her  great  dark  eyes  a  fire  burned.  A  messenger 
came,  bearing  an  armful  of  flowers  from  the  man  she  now 


STARLIGHT  27 

hated.     She  pointed  to  the  floor.     He  laid  them  down  and 
Starlight  pushed  them  from  her  with  her  foot. 

This  terrible  grief  and  chagrin  soon  did  its  work  and 
Starlight  was  ill.  Her  plans  for  the  future  had  been  care 
fully  laid,  but  suddenly  she  had  been  deprived  of  the 
power  to  execute  them.  "They  shall  not  know  that  I  am 
ill.  He  would  understand,"  she  muttered.  On  the  mor 
row  she  disappeared,  without  one  word  of  explanation.  No 
one  knew  where  or  why. 


CHAPTER  V 

TONTO  AS  SCOUT 

"Just  the  man  I'm  looking  for!"  Dr.  Nachito  grasped 
Tonto's  hand  and  pulled  him  through  the  doorway.  "Come 
in.  Come  in.  Where  have  you  been?  When  did  you  reach 
the  city?  Say,  Tonto,  where  is  Starlight?" 

No,  Tonto  did  not  know.  And  Dr.  Nachito  settled  back 
in  his  great  arm  chair.  A  grave,  earnest  look  came  into  his 
eyes.  "Tonto,  I  must  find  her.  I  have  written  and  my 
letter  was  returned.  I  have  no  time,  understand,  to  trace 
her.  Help  me  find  the  girl,  Tonto.  Strange  that  she  dis 
appeared  in  that  way.  She  had  been  offered  a  position  at 
Carlisle.  But  at  the  close  of  her  school  year  she  just 
dropped  out  of  sight.  I  believe  that  Starlight  is  teaching 
on  one  of  the  Western  reservations,  probably  some  distance 
from  her  own  tribe.  She  feels  very  bitter  toward  certain 
white  people  and  she  hates  notoriety,  understand.  Starlight 
is  a  wonderful  girl,  but  too  shy.  I  expect  great  things  of 
her.  She  represents  the  high-minded,  lofty-souled  Indian 
woman.  Her  intelligence  ranks  with  the  best.  No  white 
woman  ever  possessed  more  native  ability.  I  am  proud  of 
Starlight,  understand.  Tonto,  how  long  before  you  go 
West?" 

"I  dropped  in,  doctor,  to  say  good-by.  I  go  to-morrow. 
If  Starlight  is  out  there,  I  will  find  her.  She  cannot  hide 
that  voice." 

"No,  no,"  the  doctor  replied,  with  a  hearty  laugh,  "she 
sings  just  like  the  birds,  understand.  It  is  easier  for  them 
to  sing  than  to  keep  still.  That's  what  I  call  music." 

For  an  hour  Tonto  lounged  upon  the  big  davenport,  while 
they  discussed  matters  pertaining  to  their  race,  and  when 
they  parted  the  doctor  said,  "Tell  Starlight  to  come,  or 
communicate  with  me,  and,  Tonto,  show  the  whites  that 

28 


TONTO  AS  SCOUT  29 

we  are  men — that  we  belong  to  the  great  human  family — 
and  don't  forget  to  come  back.  Tonto,  there  is  a  chair  and 
the  davenport  and  a  pillow  always  waiting  for  you.  My 
people  are  always  welcome,  and  the  friends  of  my  people. 
It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  greet  them  here  and  share  what  I 
have.  Farewell,  Tonto,  and  don't  forget  to  come  back." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  TRAIL 

On  a  midsummer  evening  Tonto  sat  on  the  ground  before 
a  camp-fire,  in  company  with  a  dozen  Indian  friends.  A 
chilly  wind  swept  down  from  the  north  and  they  drew  close 
to  the  little  fire,  smoked  their  pipes  and  discussed  famous 
hunting  expeditions.  The  fire  burned  low  and  then  Tonto 
began  to  sing.  The  Indians  listened  in  silence.  He  finished 
his  song  and  then  one  young  lad  sat  up  very  straight  and 
said,  "Up  stream  three  miles  a  girl  lives  with  friends.  She 
teach  school  in  winter — she  sing  fine,  fine.  Her  name 
Starlight."  Tonto  bounded  to  his  feet,  "Where?  Which 
way?  Tell  me.  I  know  Starlight."  When  the  boy  had 
imparted  all  the  information  he  possessed  Tonto  whistled 
in  imitation  of  the  night  birds  and  danced  the  Happy 
Dance  about  the  smoking  fire.  He  had  given  up  all  hope 
of  finding  Starlight  long  ago,  and  here  he  stumbled  upon 
her  trail  at  the  last  moment,  for  to-morrow  he  would  turn 
back  toward  the  great  metropolis.  Round  the  fire  Tonto 
executed  the  Ghost  Dance,  the  War  Dance,  the  Peace 
Dance,  the  Medicine  Dance,  all  in  one.  If  only  the  boy  had 
told  him  earlier  in  the  evening.  It  was  now  midnight,  and 
he  must  wait  until  morning. 

But  before  sunrise  he  was  up  and  impatient  to  start  in 
search  of  Starlight.  He  took  the  sleepy  Indian  boy  with 
him — the  boy  who  had  heard  Starlight  sing.  It  seemed  a 
short  three  miles,  and  when  they  reached  the  small  circle  of 
huts  upon  the  bank  of  the  river,  no  one  was  stirring.  "Come 
along,  lad,"  he  commanded,  "we  will  take  the  first  canoe 
we  find  and  row  about  until  the  Indians  come  outside." 
They  trudged  along  for  a  few  rods,  when  suddenly  Tonto 
heard  the  voice  of  Starlight.  "Hark,  hark,  the  lark  at 
Heaven's  gate  sings."  The  tones  rang  out  clear,  and  for 
a  moment  Tonto  was  unable  to  speak  or  stir.  The  pink 

30 


THE  TRAIL  31 

and  gold  of  morning  gilded  all  the  hills  and  tree  tops,  and 
the  voices  of  a  thousand  birds  seemed  blended  with  the 
matin  song  of  the  Indian  girl.  "That  is  Starlight.  That  is 
Starlight/'  Tonto  whispered,  "dear  child  of  Nature/'  and 
then  he  bounded  down  the  path  and  came  upon  the  Indian 
girl  sitting  on  a  boulder  that  hung  out  over  the  water.  Her 
bare  head  and  arms  and  feet  were  bathed  in  a  flood  of  sun 
light.  Tonto  touched  the  brim  of  his  straw  hat  and  laughed 
aloud,  when  Starlight  sprang  from  the  rock  and  greeted 
him.  "That  was  mighty  rude  to  cut  short  a  song  like  that, 
Starlight,  but  I  must  be  gone  and  I  have  a  message  for 
you  to  deliver  from  Dr.  Nachita.  He  is  very  anxious  re 
garding  you,  anxious  to  see  you,  Starlight.  He  insisted 
upon  my  finding  you.  He  wants  you  to  return  to  the  nity." 

An  expression  of  contempt  swept  over  the  girl's  face  and 
then  she  smiled,  "The  doctor  is  a  good  friend  to  all 
Indians.  Tonto,  I  think  that  I  will  go.  I  cannot  remain 
here.  Reservation  life  is  intolerable.  The  Indians  distrust 
those  who  have  been  among  the  whites.  They  build  a  wall 
about  themselves  and  leave  you  outside.  I  cannot  go  back 
to  the  old  way  of  living.  The  agent  dislikes  educated 
Indians.  He  makes  you  feel  unwelcome.  I  have  decided 
to  live  with  the  white  race  and  work  for  the  Indian.  I 
hate  the  Pale  Face,  Tonto,  but  I  must  have  knowledge  and 
culture.  I  cannot  exist  in  this  aimless,  lifeless  way."  "The 
advice  of  Dr.  Nachita  will  be  valuable  to  you,  Starlight.  He 
has  lived  the  life  of  the  white  man  for  forty  years.  He 
has  attended  their  schools,  dwelt  in  their  homes.  He  has 
the  white  man's  education  and  the  Indian's  heart.  He 
stands  between  the  two  races.  Go  to  him,  Starlight." 

The  Indian  girl  promised  to  see  the  doctor  or  to  com 
municate  with  him  in  the  near  future.  When  they  parted 
upon  the  river  bank,  Starlight  cried  out,  "Hear  the  birds, 
Tonto.  See  how  the  sunlight  bathes  the  whole  earth.  But 
the  people !  Something  has  gone  wrong  with  them." 


CHAPTER  VII 
MEMORIES 

Dr.  Nachita  was  writing  big,  terse  sentences  between 
spells  of  pounding  the  table.  "The  Indian  is  a  man  like 
other  men,"  he  wrote,  "and  the  Indian  will  come  up  faster 
than  any  other  race  when  given  a  chance." 

The  door  opened  and  Starlight  stepped  inside.  She  did 
not  speak  but  smiled  just  a  wee  bit.  Dr.  Nachita  lifted  his 
head  and  then  bounded  from  his  chair,  and  upset  the  ink 
well  upon  the  Navajo  spread.  "Why,  child,"  he  roared, 
"where  have  you  been  all  this  time?  Why  did  you  run 
away?  Nonsense!  Nonsense!  You  might  have  had  a 
fine  position  at  Carlisle." 

The  girl  replied  in  not  over-confident  tones,  "I  was  ill. 
I  could  no  longer  endure  being  stared  at  by  white  people. 
I  went  back  to  the  Indians  that  I  might  escape  notice,  and 
rest.  I  was  tired,  tired.  But,  doctor,  the  reservation  is 
no  place  for  educated  Indians.  I  would  go  mad  if  unable 
to  escape  from  the  dull,  monotonous,  restricted,  aimless  life 
they  lead,  with  no  incentive,  no  hope,  no  aim." 

"Yes !  Yes !  I  understand.  I  know  it  is  awful ;  no  place 
for  you,  Starlight;  a  waste  of  time;  but  we  must  master 
Fate!  Fate,  you  understand,  is  simply  environment  and 
circumstances.  Starlight,  we  must  master  Fate!" 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  shook  his  great  shaggy  black 
head.  Presently  he  arose  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  girl: 

"You  ran  away  from  a  common  mongrel  cur.  You!  A 
noble  Indian  girl !  You  hated  and  hate  made  you  ill.  You 
should  be  teaching  at  Carlisle;  you  wasted  a  lot  of  per 
fectly  good  energy,  power,  understand,  that  we  need.  A 
great  responsibility  rests  upon  our  few  educated  Indians. 
We  are  to  lead  the  whole  race.  Sit  down  there  while  I  tell 
you  a  sad  story."  Starlight  obeyed.  The  doctor  went 


MEMORIES  33 

back  to  his  chair,  closed  his  eyes,  and  began  to  speak  in 
tones  so  low  that  Starlight  leaned  forward  to  catch  the 
sounds.  "Starlight,  I  was  called  to  the  bedside  of  a  dying 
woman,  the  mother  of  a  babe.  To  me  she  said,  'Doctor, 
where  is  the  Indian  girl  they  call  Starlight?  Tell  her 
that  I  did  not  steal  from  her  the  white  man.'  'Whom  do 
you  have  reference  to?'  I  questioned.  'Did  you  never  hear 
of  Cassius  Mott,  the  white  man  who  rejected  Starlight 
because  she  was  an  Indian?'  'Well!  well!'  I  replied,  'I 
am  glad  to  know  that  Starlight  escaped  such  a  man.'  'Well,' 
she  continued,  'I  met  him  after  he  had  lost  sight  of  Star 
light.'  'That  was  good,'  I  remarked.  'There  was  no  more 
Starlight  for  him;  go  on.'  'He  never  mentioned  the  Indian 
girl  to  me  until  we  were  married.  Then  he  bragged  about 
his  irresistible  charms  for  women.  I  compelled  Mott  to 
marry  me,'  she  went  on  hurriedly,  'he  did  not  intend  to  take 
a  wife,  but  I  taught  him  a  lesson.  He  left  me  with  the 
baby  there/  She  nodded  toward  an  infant  sleeping  in  the 
corner  of  the  room.  'Now  I  am  dying.  Who  will  care  for 
my  child  ?  Cassius  Mott  was  never  in  love  with  anyone  but 
himself.  He  was  handsome,  and  this  was  his  ruin.'  'Where 
is  the  cur?'  I  asked,  'Gone  to  the  dogs,'  she  continued,  'in 
jail  for  forgery.  He  is  a  physical  wreck.  Cassius  Mott's 
star  has  set.  I  know  from  the  lips  of  Mott  that  Starlight 
went  back  to  reservation  life  to  hide  her  grief.  I  fear 
she  holds  me  responsible;  but,  doctor,  I  did  not  meet  Mott 
until  after  Starlight  had  disappeared;  and  would  to  God 
that  I  had  never  known  him;  all  he  possessed  was  good 
looks  and  egotism.' 

"Well,  Starlight,  the  woman  died  that  night.  Her  last 
words  were,  'Ask  Starlight  to  love  my  child.  The  father 
said,  "Starlight  is  noble  and  loyal,  but  she  is  an  Indian."  ' 

Starlight  looked  aghast.  She  did  not  speak,  but  shrank 
back  into  the  corner  of  the  big  davenport.  In  her  face  Dlr. 
Nachita  read  the  answer — "Foster  the  child  of  Cassius 
Mott?  Never!" 


34  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

"There!  There!  Starlight/'  the  doctor  pleaded,  "just 
think  about  it.  Just  think  very  calmly,  very  sensibly,  and 
by  and  by  give  me  your  answer.  Resentment  and  grief 
have  made  you  sick.  Sickness  makes  you  weak  and  helpless. 
Passion  is  destructive.  Time  is  precious.  You  have  the 
elements  of  greatness.  Use  those  forces,  Starlight,  for  the 
glory  of  our  race.  Think  of  this  little  motherless,  helpless 
baby.  What  has  he  done  that  we  should  not  love  him  ?  He 
has  wronged  no  one.  Carry  out  the  mother's  wish,  Starlight. 
It  will  prove  an  anchor  for  your  soul.  It  is  not  the  object 
of  our  love,  but  the  love  itself  that  saves  us,  understand — it 
is  the  love  itself  that  transforms  the  life." 

At  last  Starlight  replied,  "And  you  ask  me  to  adopt  the 
child  of  that  man,  Dr.  Nachita?  Why?" 

"The  helplessness  and  dependence,  and  innocence,  of  the 
child  will  save  you,  Starlight,  from  hate  and  bitterness. 
When  our  heads  and  hearts  and  hands  are  full  of  work, 
there  is  no  time  for  hate  and  bitterness.  This  is  the  lesson 
our  race  must  learn.  We  who  think  and  reason  must  lead 
the  way;  would  to  God  that  I  had  gotten  the  light  long 
years  ago.  Do  not  go  back  to  your  people,  sitting  in  dark 
ness,  Starlight.  Stay  here  where  conditions  are  more 
helpful,  where  it  is  no  crime  to  think,  understand.  Forget 
yourself  and  all  the  past.  Sorrow  and  pain  do  not  hang 
around  long  when  we  ignore  them.  Let  us  teach  our  people 
to  forget,  and  then,  Starlight,  the  pale  face  will  forget  those 
things  which  you  and  I  do  not  care  to  remember  in  the 
history  of  our  race.  Dear  child,  we  must  forget.  It  was 
a  horrid  misunderstanding,  but,  Starlight,  had  our  race 
bent  all  their  energy  toward  finding  the  way  to  live  peace 
ably  with  the  pale  face,  instead  of  nursing  hate  and  re 
venge,  there  would  be  no  great  gulf  between  us." 

The  Indian  girl  glared  at  him  and  opened  her  lips,  but 
the  doctor  continued,  "There!  There!  I  must  forget.  I 
must  not  regret  or  reprove.  I  must  go  forward.  I  must 


MEMORIES  35 

deal  with  the  present.  I  must  be  the  bridge  over  which  my 
people  pass  to  something  better.  The  child  is  the  present. 
He  demands  attention.  I  must  go  now.  Think  about  it, 
Starlight.  Wait  here  for  me  or  come  back.  The  door  is 
always  open." 

The  doctor  had  been  gone  a  long  time  and  still  Starlight 
sat  crouching  in  the  corner  of  the  big  davenport,  that  was 
completely  concealed  by  Navajo  blankets  of  unique  design 
and  weave.  The  girl  was  battling  with  the  dead  past, 
fighting  the  phantoms  of  yesterdays.  She  was  pitying  the 
woman  Starlight;  when,  in  reality,  Fate  had  been  kind; 
she  had  escaped;  she  was  free;  the  other  woman  was  dead. 
The  room  was  filled  with  brown  and  purple  shadows,  when 
suddenly  that  phantom  chaser,  the  sunlight,  came  stream 
ing  through  a  window.  It  fell  upon  the  table  where  here 
and  there  lay  scraps  of  paper  upon  which  the  doctor  had 
written  down  in  a  bold  hand,  his  latest  thoughts  regarding 
the  future  of  his  race.  It  fell  across  the  Navajo  blanket; 
it  illumined  the  whole  room;  it  warmed  the  hands  of  the 
Indian  girl ;  it  gilded  her  j  et  black  hair  and  heightened  the 
color  in  her  cheeks.  A  new  light  came  into  her  eyes  and  a 
smile  transformed  her  whole  countenance.  She  blinked  as 
one  just  awakened  from  sound  sleep.  She  arose,  drew  her 
cape  about  her  shoulders  and  passed  out  as  silently  as  she 
had  entered. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  WILD  FLOWER  FADES 

When  Tonto  arrived  at  the  lodge  of  Chief  Thunder  Bird, 
he  found  Ahwaha  lying  ill,  upon  a  pile  of  blankets,  under 
a  small  white  tepee  which  the  old  chief  had  placed  upon 
the  green  bank  above  the  river.  She  was  looking  away 
into  the  blue  sky,  through  drifts  of  fleecy  white  clouds, 
when  Tonto  appeared  in  the  opening.  "Ahwaha,  dear  child, 
what  has  happened?"  She  cried  out,  "O,  Tonto,  I  feared 
you  would  not  come  in  time."  Her  voice  was  like  the 
voice  of  a  child  after  much  suffering.  She  held  up  her 
hands  toward  the  great  strong  man  who  bent  over  her  ten 
derly.  Tonto  knelt  down  and  lifted  Ahwaha  and  placed 
her  head  against  his  breast.  "Child,  I  came  to  take  you 
away  from  this  dreary  place.  I  have  money  now.  I  sold 
the  land  my  father  left  me.  Ahwaha.  you  must  be  brave — 
you  must  live !  We  will  go  to-morrow  if  you  wish."  He 
spoke  hurriedly  and  great  tears  trembled  on  his  eyelids. 

"Sit  there,  Tonto,  by  the  door.  I  smother.  I  am  tired — 
always.  I  will  speak  slowly.  I  must  tell  you,  Tonto,"  she 
whispered,  "I  am  going  away,  going  to  meet  mother  and 
my  one  dear  friend.  Tonto,  my  heart  is  broken.  I  cannot 
endure  the  life  here.  The  misery  and  hopelessness  of  the 
people  have  eaten  deep  into  my  heart.  I  have  tried  to  help, 
but,  Tonto,  effort  is  useless.  The  reservation  system  is 
wrong;  it  saps  the  life  and  ambition.  There  is  nothing  to 
look  forward  to,  nothing  to  inspire  hope  or  effort.  Black 
ignorance  is  the  natural  atmosphere.  When  mother  left  us, 
my  father  thought  he  must  abandon  the  home  where  death 
had  entered.  I  could  not  give  up  all  for  which  I  had 
labored  so  strenuously.  Poverty  is  one  of  the  afflictions  of 
our  race.  They  must  learn  to  cling  to  their  possessions.  I 
would  not  give  up  the  home,  so  father  went  alone  to  the 

36 


THE  WILD  FLOWER  FADES  37 

agency.  He  returned  when  friends  informed  him  that  I 
was  very  ill.  Aunt  Lizzie  Waco,  the  good  soul,  has  been  a 
mother  to  me. 

"You  remember  the  first  hut  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing, 
where  the  old-fashioned  flowers  bloomed  along  the  path 
and  under  the  windows  ?  I  gave  the  flowers  to  Aunt  Lizzie 
and  assisted  her  in  paying  for  a  little  cottage-organ,  because 
Aunt  Lizzie  sings.  She  loves  to  sing,  and  together  we  have 
passed  many  hours  singing  the  old  familiar  songs.  The  one 
she  loves  best  is,  'Where  the  River  Shannon  Flows.'  Tonto, 
the  Indians  have  souls.  There  is  no  gift  possessed  by  the 
white  man  which  is  not  theirs  if  only  their  environment 
were  favorable  to  its  development.  My  heart  bleeds  for 
them,  Tonto." 

The  man's  eyes  were  blinded  by  tears ;  he  could  not  speak. 
Ahwaha  continued,  "Something  terrible  happened  here, 
Tonto — a  scandal  regarding  the  agent.  The  circumstance 
was  so  openly  immoral,  I  could  not  remain  quiet.  I  drew 
up  a  petition  asking  for  his  removal.  All  the  Indian  men 
who  can  write  signed  their  names  to  the  paper.  I  signed 
for  those  who  cannot  write,  and  then  I  made  a  copy  and 
mailed  it  to  Washington.  And,  Tonto,  I  received  a  letter 
of  reprimand  from  the  commissioner  and  was  branded  a 
forger.  The  commissioner  came  with  the  agent  and  talked 
in  a  threatening  and  insulting  manner.  He  would  not  ex 
amine  the  original  petition  with  the  names  signed  by  all 
Indians  at  this  point  who  can  write,  although  I  offered  the 
petition  in  evidence.  Maybe  I  did  wrong;  but,  Tonto,  the 
trouble  involved  a  young  Indian  girl.  I  thought  I  had  a 
right  to  act  in  her  defense.  O,  Tonto,  I  am  so  tired!  I 
have  tried — I  have  tried  to  help  them!  Promise,  Tonto, 
that  when  I  am  dead  you  will  not  let  my  body  rest  on  the 
river  bank  where  the  others  are  with  the  little  board  sheds 
over  them  and  all  manner  of  trinkets  inside.  Come  close, 
Tonto." 


38  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

He  knelt  beside  her  and  Ahwaha  whispered,  "Tonto,  I 
can  die  content  if  you  promise  that  my  ashes  shall  be  placed 
in  the  grave  with  the  ashes  of  Dr.  Martel.  In  my  little 
black  trunk  you  will  find  a  letter  directing  you  to  his  grave." 

"It  shall  be  so/'  Tonto  whispered. 

She  fell  back  upon  the  rude  couch  and  lay  with  closed 
eyes.  Tonto  bowed  his  head  and  kissed  her  pale  lips.  Then 
he  sprang  to  his  feet.  The  tent  was  filled  with  shadows, 
for  the  sun  had  gone  down  behind  the  silver  poplars.  He 
beckoned  to  the  old  chief  who  sat  alone  upon  the  river  bank, 
dreaming  the  old  sad  dreams. 

Thunder  Bird  crept  into  the  tent.  He  laid  his  hand 
very  gently  upon  Ahwaha's  raven  locks.  He  looked  upon 
her  pale  face,  and  then  he  sank  upon  the  ground  and  wailed 
and  moaned: 

"The  Little  Lark  is  dead!  The  Great  Spirit  is  angry 
with  me !  Why  did  I  not  get  the  great  Medicine  Man  ?  It 
was  wrong  for  the  little  one  to  go  away  to  school  and  to 
the  big  town,  and  come  back  with  such  notions  in  her  pretty 
head.  She  used  to  sing  and  I  forgot  to  hate  the  whites.  I 
was  no  more  angry.  But  now  for  two  moons  she  no  sing. 
She  say  something  won't  let  her  breathe — something  make 
her  too  sad.  She  can  no  sing.  She  want  to  go  to  her 
doctor  and  he  now  live  with  God.  I  will  follow.  I  cannot 
live  here.  Now  I  will  burn  the  house." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  knife,  bared  his  breast  and 
slashed  it;  and  then  cut  off  his  hair  close  to  his  head. 
Tonto  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  Thunder  Bird  and 
said: 

"Listen,  chief,  to  the  teaching  of  Ahwaha,  your  own 
beautiful  daughter.  There  was  more  real  wisdom  in  her 
way  of  thinking  than  the  people  understood.  She  said, 
'Tonto.  the  earth  has  too  many  people;  they  are  crowding 
each  other;  the  Indians  must  settle  down  and  remain  in 
one  spot  and  hold  fast  to  their  property;  the  ground  is  in 


THE  WILD  FLOWER  FADES  39 

demand;  in  order  to  live,  people  must  concentrate  their 
forces ;  make  good  use  of  the  intellect,  the  strength,  and  the 
time — these  are  the  forces  that  make  for  success.'  " 

"What  do  we  care  about  all  that?"  sobbed  Thunder  Bird. 
"Ahwaha  is  dead.  I  no  understan  what  you  say.  The  Lark 
no  more  sing." 

Tonto  turned  away,  shook  his  head,  and  muttered : 

"It  is  this  accursed  reservation  system  that  fosters  and 
nourishes  their  poverty  and  ignorance ;  but  I  can  do  nothing. 
I  will  keep  my  promise  to  the  Wild  Flower  and  go  my  way. 
No  more  Indian  life  for  me." 

The  lamentations  for  the  dead  girl  were  kept  up  all 
through  the  night,  and  participated  in  by  all  the  Indians  of 
that  section  of  the  reservation.  Tonto  was  grave  and  silent. 
He  had  learned  that  grief  does  not  demand  a  noisy  mani 
festation.  Tonto  was  troubled;  how  could  he  remove  the 
body  of  Ahwaha  ?  There  was  the  agent,  always  watching, 
lynx-eyed.  It  would  be  useless  to  ask  permission;  the 
agent  preferred  having  the  old  traditions  carried  on;  it 
perpetuated  the  sort  of  Indians  which  made  the  bureau 
system  necessary.  At  last  Tonto  decided  upon  a  plan.  He  kept 
his  own  counsel.  After  the  body  of  Ahwaha  had  been  laid 
in  the  ground,  he  took  from  beside  the  door  where  she  had 
placed  it,  a  large  white  rose-bush  and  planted  it  at  the 
head  of  her  grave  to  mark  the  spot.  Tonto  gave  money  to 
Chief  Thunder  Bird  and  Aunt  Lizzie.  The  old  chief  could 
not  be  induced  to  re-enter  the  house.  When  all  was  over 
he  said,  "No,  Tonto,  I  go  with  the  Medicine  Man  back  to 
the  agency." 

When  Tonto  boarded  the  train  that  carried  him  from 
the  village  he  had  signed  a  compact  with  two  nondescript 
white  men  whereby,  for  a  money  consideration,  they  were 
to  deliver  the  body  of  Ahwaha  at  the  depot  of  a  railway 
junction  fifty  miles  down  the  line.  They  were  to  go  at 
night,  "and  mind  that  you  make  no  mistake  in  the  grave." 


40  02V  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

Tonto  said.  "Find  the  tall  rosebush ;  I  tied  a  white  ribbon 
to  one  stalk  low  down ;  the  name  Ahwaha  is  on  the  ribbon ; 
bring  that  piece  of  ribbon  but  do  not  disturb  the  rose-bush." 

He  could  trust  these  henchmen,  for  both  had  grievances 
against  the  Indian  agent. 

A  week  passed  before  Tonto  reached  the  city  with  the 
body  and  succeeded  in  making  out  the  papers  and  having 
the  body  incinerated,  and  then  he  went  on  a  very  dark  night, 
alone,  carrying  the  little  receptacle  which  contained  the 
ashes  of  Ahwaha,  to  the  grave  of  Dr.  Martel,  carefully 
removed  a  square  of  sod  near  the  head  of  the  grave  and  hid 
the  little  box  in  the  earth.  He  kissed  the  bit  of  ribbon  and 
placed  it  under  the  metal  box,  replaced  the  piece  of  sod, 
and  murmured: 

"I  have  kept  my  vow  to  the  noblest,  sweetest  soul  that 
ever  came  to  this  sad  world.  Farewell,  Ahwaha — Wild 
Flower — the  Lark !  The  Indian's  word  is  sacred." 

Then  Tonto  scaled  the  high  fence  for  the  second  time 
and  disappeared  in  deep  shadows. 


CHAPTER  IX 
A  DECISION 

Dr.  Nachita  looked  up  from  his  writing  and  there  in  the 
doorway  stood  Starlight.  "Well!  Well!  I  knew  you 
would  come  back!  Good  girl!  Looking  fine!  Sit  there!" 
He  pointed  to  the  corner  of  the  davenport  and  Starlight 
sat  down  upon  the  Navajo  blanket  and  leaned  against  a 
yellow  satin  cushion.  "News  for  you,  Starlight/'  he  con 
tinued,  "the  father  is  dead.  The  child  is  not  well — needs 
care,  you  understand."  While  he  talked  Starlight  looked 
away  into  space.  After  a  time  she  said,  "Where  is  the 
child,  doctor?  I  came  for  the  baby.  It  has  taken  me  all 
this  time  to  find  employment  and  establish  a  little  home." 

"My !  My !  Starlight,  I  am  proud  of  you ;  depend  upon 
me;  I  will  help  when  help  is  needed,  understand?  Wait! 
Wait!"  He  left  the  room  and  returned,  carrying  an  infant 
in  his  arms.  "Understand,  Starlight,  I  do  not  advise  the 
adoption  of  the  child ;  but  it  must  have  immediate  care." 

Starlight  took  the  babe  in  her  arms,  and  the  little  fellow 
looked  up  and  smiled.  The  compact  was  sealed.  "It  was 
the  dying  woman's  request,  Starlight,  the  last  words  spoken 
by  the  mother;  she  had  confidence  in  you  founded  upon  the 
father's  respect."  Again  Dr.  Nachita  left  the  room.  This 
time  he  returned  bearing  a  small  package — "All  that  be 
longs  to  the  child,"  he  said,  "All  Indian  women  are  good 
mothers;  keep  up  the  tradition,  Starlight.  There  is  a  lot 
of  bosh  and  nonsense  about  not  being  able  to  love  another's 
child  like  your  own.  The  world  has  too  many  people  now. 
It  is  far  more  noble  to  care  for  some  homeless  waif  who  is 
here  without  being  consulted,  who  is  helpless  and  homeless 
— far  more  noble,  understand,  than  to  bring  more  children 
into  the  world.  The  human  heart  is  capable  of  great  love, 
great  devotion,  great  sacrifice.  This  love  and  devotion 

41 


42  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

saves  us  from  our  own  miserable  selves.  Understand, 
Starlight,  it  is  the  love  that  saves.  Shall  I  go  with  you 
and  help  you  with  the  youngster?" 

"No,"  Starlight  replied,  "outside  the  woman  waits  who 
will  live  with  me  and  care  for  the  child.  I  must  furnish 
the  support."  "Yes!  Yes!  I  understand,"  the  doctor 
continued  in  a  dreamy  mood,  "women  are  wonderful  plan 
ners — far  more  resourceful  than  men.  This  other  woman — 
who  is  she?"  "A  woman  who  has  lost  her  only  child  and 
her  husband.  She  has  no  home.  She  is  willing  to  work." 
"There!  There!  See  how  it  works  out.  Already  matters 
are  adjusting  themselves." 

The  two  women  left  with  the  infant.  The  Indian  woman 
was  young  and  beautiful  but  not  overly  strong  In  appear 
ance.  The  white  woman  was  of  middle  age,  pale  and  thin, 
of  the  wiry  type,  born  for  endurance.  The  door  closed  and 
Dr.  Nachita  sat  dreaming  before  a  pile  of  unanswered  let 
ters.  "What  was  it  about  that  youngster?"  he  whispered, 
"that  wrung  my  heart?  One  time  I  suppose  that  I  was 
quite  as  helpless."  He  closed  his  eyes  and  by  and  by  the 
tears  fell  from  beneath  their  lids.  "The  Indian  mothers 
love  their  children.  My  mother !  God  only  knows  her  sor 
row.  I  am  going  back.  My  sisters !  What  of  them  ?  I 
am  going  back !  My  childhood  rises  up  before  me  like  a 
terrible  nightmare.  I  must  know  the  truth.  I  must  search 
for  proof  regarding  their  fate.  I  have  taken  all  the  com 
forts  and  blessings,  and  fortune  has  been  very  kind  to  me. 
But  what  of  them  ?  A  man  cannot  forget  his  mother.  The 
relation  is  too  close.  This  poor  little  fellow  awakens  mem 
ories,  strange  memories  in  me,  that  have  lain  dormant 
for  many  years.  I  cannot  shake  them  off.  Starlight  will 
be  faithful.  She  will,  I  am  sure.  Now  I  am.  going  back  to 
that  rock-ribbed,  sun-parched  region  where  most  growing 
things  bear  spikes  and  needles  for  protection.  I  am  going 
to  hunt  for  my  people." 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  MIRACLE 

The  sonl  of  Tonto  was  saturated  with  gloom.  He  had 
lost  the  comradeship  and  affection  of  a  noble  woman.  The 
beauty  <md  fragrance  of  the  Wild  Flower  were  only  mem 
ories  now.  He  was  more  lonely  than  ever  before  in  his 
whole  life.  He  must  shake  off  the  sad  thoughts  that  clung 
to  him.  With  this  tender,  sacred  memory  hidden  deep  in 
the  recesses  of  his  being,  he  walked  into  a  big  play-house 
on  a  broad  thoroughfare,  where  the  lights  dazzled  and 
bewildered  him.  The  play  was  "Othello."  He  entered 
late  and  the  scene  before  him  presented  the  Moor  in  the 
presence  of  Brabantio  and  his  beautiful  daughter  relating 
his  adventures.  The  scene  might  have  been  one  from 
"East  Lynne"  or  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  so  far  as  concerned 
Tonto.  But  who  is  this  glorious  Desdemona  ?  Tonto  could 
not  turn  his  eyes  away  from  her.  He  never  had  looked  upon 
a  creature  of  smch  strange  fascinating  beauty.  He  trembled 
and  shrank  from  the  vision  before  him.  He  grasped  the 
arms  of  his  chair.  He  must  be  calm;  the  Indian  was  a 
Stoic;  Tonto  Cabo  had  traditions  to  uphold.  He  would 
take  root  and  grow  fast  to  the  chair,  but  expose  his  thoughts 
or  emotions — never!  Was  he  in  sympathy  with  the  gentle 
suffering  Desdemona?  Why,  Tonto  was  anxious  to  leap 
down  upon  the  stage,  exterminate  the  entire  company  and 
rescue  Desdemona.  All  the  Indian  bravery  long  pent  up 
was  now  aroused.  Tonto,  the  calm,  quiet,  stoical  Indian, 
awakened  as  from  a  dream.  When  the  curtain  descended 
upon  the  last  scene,  he  pulled  himself  together  and  walked 
away.  Not  the  same  Tonto!  Not  into  the  same  world! 
A  miracle  had  taken  place !  Everything  seemed  changed. 

He  read  from  the  program  the  following:  "Chiquita,  the 
Spanish  actress,  plays  Desdemona  as  few  have  played  the 

43 


44  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

great  role.  She  ranks  with  the  greatest.  Her  gentle  pathos 
is  irresistible.  She  is  ravishingly  beautiful  and  possesses 
the  dramatic  and  emotional  temperament.  Chiquita  is  very 
young  and  we  predict  a  brilliant  future  for  this  child  of  the 
gods.  She  has  the  dark,  rich,  glowing  beauty  of  the  Latin 
type.  Her  hair  is  black  as  the  raven's  wing  and  frames 
a  face  of  wonderful  plasticity,  a  mirror  of  the  emotions  from 
which  shine  eyes  whose  midnight  depths  at  one  moment 
seem  fathomless  wells  of  tenderness,  and  at  another  un 
quenchable  volcanoes  of  blazing  wrath ;  eyes  that  the  love- 
light  makes  surprisingly  feminine,  which  anger  and  rage 
make  terrible." 

And  those  were  the  eyes  that  had  set  the  soul  of  Tonto 
on  fire.  He  crushed  the  little  program  between  his  strong 
fingers  and  shoved  it  down  into  his  pocket.  He  joined  the 
throng  that  surged  along  the  street  and  wandered  aim 
lessly  about,  struggling  with  his  new  problem.  Suddenly 
he  muttered,  "Great  Caesar!  The  ticket!  Only  one  more 
performance.  What  if  they  were  sold  out?"  He  turned 
about  and  moved  through  the  crowds  with  that  manner 
peculiar  to  people  who  know  where  they  are  going.  Ar 
rived  at  the  box  office,  he  secured  one  of  the  last  tickets 
sold,  for  Chiquita's  farewell  appearance.  The  seat  was 
located  close  to  the  stage,  and  Tonto  took  possession  of  it 
long  before  the  curtain  was  raised.  Near  the  close  of  the 
performance  Chiquita  asked,  "Who  is  the  copper -colored, 
big,  handsome  fellow  close  down  in  front?"  Someone 
peered  out  from  behind  the  scenes  and  pronounced  him, 
"An  Indian,"  and  Chiquita  went  to  her  dressing-room, 
thinking  Tonto  a  rich  East  Indian  merchant  or  diplomat. 
Once  her  great  luminous  eyes  rested  upon  the  face  of  Tonto 
for  a  moment,  and  a  smile  rippled  away  from  her  lips;  a 
smile  that  sent  Tonto  away  happy.  But  how  could  he 
approach  this  wonderful  being?  Would  it  be  possible  to 
speak  with  her?  After  all,  he  thought,  perhaps  she  only 
smiled  at  the  peculiar  color  of  his  skin?  Tonto  kept  on 


THE  MIRACLE  45 

with  his  dreams  and  schemes  until  near  dawn  of  the  fol 
lowing  day.  But,  he  was  standing  by  the  window  of  the 
ticket  office  of  the  theater  when  the  agent  arrived  next 
day.  Tonto  asked,  "Where  has  Chiquita  gone  ?"  A  strange 
feeling  of  giddiness  and  suffocation  seized  him  when  the 
man  named  a  city  five  hundred  miles  away.  "They  are 
booked  for  a  week  there."  One  week!  He  must  not  lose 
the  trail.  He  prepared  to  leave  town  on  the  first  train  that 
would  carry  him  in  that  direction.  Then  he  hurried  to  the 
home  of  Dr.  Nachita. 

"Yes!  Yes!  Starlight  came  back;  wonderful  woman; 
great  prospects;  not  another  like  Starlight.  Tonto,  re 
member  that  we  few  educated  Indians  have  a  great  work 
before  us.  We  must  teach  the  whole  human  race  the  truth 
regarding  the  Indian  people.  They  must  be  made  to  under 
stand  that  we  are  not  different  from  other  men,  only  those 
on  the  reservations  lack  the  proper  environment." 

Tonto  listened  in  silence.  On  other  occasions  when  they 
met  the  doctor's  philosophy  had  sounded  intelligent  and  in 
teresting — a  real  possibility  for  his  people — but  now !  every 
consideration  had  dwindled  into  utter  nothingness  in  the 
presence  of  his  one  thought — Chiquita — and  so  he  hurried 
away  from  his  Indian  friend,  on  to  the  distant  city.  When 
he  reached  his  destination  he  never  once  stopped  until  he 
had  located  the  theater  and  secured  a  season  ticket.  Luck 
ily,  Tonto  had  sold  his  land  on  the  last  trip  West.  He 
was  rich  so  long  as  the  money  lasted.  Every  night  Chiquita 
looked  across  the  footlights  and  beheld  Tonto  sitting  erect 
and  calm,  and  she  knew  that  he  devoured  each  sound  that 
fell  from  her  lips  and  was  happy  when  she  smiled,  and 
miserable  when  she  pretended  misery.  As  the  evenings 
passed  Tonto  more  and  more  adored  the  fascinating  Chi 
quita.  When  the  company  traveled,  Tonto  also  traveled. 
From  city  to  city  the  tall,  handsome  Indian  patiently  fol 
lowed  the  star  of  his  destiny.  One  evening  a  well-known 
Indian  attorney  accompanied  him  to  theater.  "How  can  I 


46  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

compel  Chiquita  to  speak  with  me  ?"  Tonto  whispered.  His 
friend  replied,  "After  the  play  we  will  go  behind  the 
scenes.  I  have  had  business  with  the  stage  manager — 
have  known  him  a  long  time." 

Could  it  be  that  Tonto  heard  aright?  Was  it  possible 
that  his  friend  could  bring  about  a  meeting?  "Lawyers  are 
mighty  smart  fellows — leave  it  to  them,"  Tonto  whispered, 
and  then  he  fell  to  getting  command  of  himself,  for  he  felt 
giddy  and  wished  himself  out  on  a  reservation  where  he 
could  stretch  himself  out  once  and  empty  his  lungs. 

From  that  night  Tonto  had  actual  faith  in  the  ability  of 
the.  Indian,  especially  the  Indian  lawyer;  for  he  actually 
stood  face  to  face  with  Chiquita,  when  the  stage  performance 
was  over,  and  she  smiled  at  Tonto  just  as  she  had  in  the 
play,  although  he  was  conscious  that  pride  and  hauteur 
looked  out  from  her  flashing  eyes.  Only  a  few  words — 
senseless  words — were  spoken;  but  when  they  parted  she 
lifted  a  beautiful,  shapely,  white  hand  and  Tonto  raised 
it  to  his  lips.  Chiquita's  eyes  swept  over  the  handsome, 
tall,  lithe  form  before  her,  she  shook  the  mass  of  inky 
ringlets  that  tumbled  about  her  face,  and  darted  away  to 
her  dressing  room.  Tonto  stammered,  "I  hope  that  we 
meet  again."  "O,  yes,"  she  laughed  and  looked  back  over 
her  shoulder,  "you  will  be  down  there,  close  to  the  stage, 
and  I  shall  always  see  you." 

And  Tonto  was  there,  watching  Chiquita  with  great 
jealous  eyes.  To  him  it  promised  certain  life  or  death. 
He  scarcely  knew  the  name  of  the  play;  the  plot  had  no 
meaning  for  him;  it  was  just  Chiquita,  the  most  adorable, 
most  perfect,  most  gifted  creature  on  earth. 

Back  across  the  continent  flitted  Chiquita  with  Tonto 
close  upon  her  trail.  One  night  the  stage  manager  snarled, 
"I  am  tired  of  that  big  Indian  about  the  stage  entrance." 
In  that  hour  fate  also  turned  her  back  upon  Chiquita,  the 
petted,  adored,  spoiled  child  of  the  gods.  Suddenly  they 


THE  MIRACLE  47 

all  began  to  hurry  past  Chiquita,  with  cold,  blank  faces. 
When  she  questioned  they  all  were  ill — suffering  from  grip 
— had  bad  news — worried  with  business  or  debts,  etc.  And 
Chiquita  was  driven  to  accept  the  love  and  sympathy  of 
Tonto — big,  handsome  Tonto  with  the  soft,  musical  voice, 
who  sang  Indian  love  songs,  and  love  songs  that  were  not 
Indian,  and  pleaded,  "Chiquita,  be  my  bride  and  I  will  defy 
the  world ;  I  could  not  love  you  more ;  let  us  wed." 

And  Chiquita  at  last  cast  her  fate  with  that  of  the 
Indian,  Tonto  Cabo.  Just  why  she  never  was  able  to  ex 
plain  to  her  own  satisfaction.  Other  handsome  men — 
wealthy  barons  and  gifted  actors  had  sought  her  hand  in 
marriage  and  showered  upon  her  love  and  adoration.  Tonto 
offered  nothing  but  his  heart,  and  one  golden  morning,  when 
the  earth  was  bathed  in  sunlight  they  went  to  a  quiet  little 
parsonage  in  the  suburbs  and  were  married. 

The  show  season  closed  and  Chiquita  was  dropped  from 
the  company's  pay-roll.  She  had  married  an  Indian.  The 
men  of  the  company  felt  belittled.  The  great  actor  refused 
to  appear  with  the  wife  of  an  Indian.  Chiquita  was  defiant. 
She  stormed  and  berated  their  lack  of  appreciation  for  real 
art.  Proud  and  sure  of  her  marvelous  gifts,  she  flouted 
criticism.  Tonto  had  money  from  the  sale  of  his  land — 
she  would  have  her  own  company.  She  could  write  her  own 
plays.  She  would  trample  upon  defeat.  For  the  present 
she  would  rest  in  some  far-away  sylvan  retreat  where,  un 
observed,  she  could  worship  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of 
nature.  They  purchased  a  birch-bark  canoe — moccasins — 
leggins — guns — a  tent — and  other  necessary  equipment  for 
a  long  vacation  in  the  forest  and  upon  the  water.  With 
these  they  journeyed  to  a  little  green  island  in  one  of  the 
Great  Lakes,  where  Chiquita  was  queen  of  the  Isle  and 
Tonto  was  Chief  Great  Eagle. 

Undisturbed  save  by  an  occasional  swift  thunderstorm, 
they  dreamed  away  the  long  summer  days.  For  Tonto 
it  was  the  Indian  life  of  song  and  story.  For  Chiquita,  it 


48  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

stilled  a  call  from  the  wild,  a  sort  of  revolutionary  instinct 
within  her  that  always  cried  out  against  restraint.  She 
sang  and  danced,  she  imitated  the  birds,  she  chased  the 
wild  animals,  and  ruthlessly  tore  from  their  stalks  great 
armfuls  of  wild  flowers,  with  which  she  decorated  the 
tepee  and  made  wreaths  to  adorn  the  brow  of  Chief  Great 
Eagle.  Then  she  grew  tired  of  the  solitude  and  pouted; 
and  finally  shipped  the  whole  paraphernalia  to  Dr.  Nachita, 
Tonto's  friend,  and  rushed  back  to  the  big  city. 


CHAPTER  XI 
OLD  MEMORIES  AWAKENED 

Where  morning  guilds  the  hilltops  fair; 

And  songs  of  birds  make  glad  the  air; 
Where  rock  and  stream  reflect  the  light; 

Where  flowers  unfold  their  colors  bright; 
There  I  would  rest,  there  I  would  dream; 

In  forest  dark  and  valley  green. 

A  strange  man  who  could  not  speak  their  language  had 
appeared  in  their  midst.  "What  means  this?"  growled 
Chief  Ugly  Bear.  "He  sure  belong  to  us;  he  tell  he  has 
lived  with  pale  face  many  year;  he  come  back  and  say — 
'know  you  a  little  boy  stolen  long  years  ago,  sold  to  pale 
face  ?  I  am  that  child ;  my  name  is  Wawa.'  He  say,  'Tell 
me  of  my  mother — of  my  family — all.  I  recall  one  awful 
night;  the  big  camp-fire  burn  up  high;  fierce  black  fel 
lows  came  yelling  like  mad  and  storm  our  camp ;  they  shout 
and  club  and  capture  all;  big  Indian  take  me  on  his  horse; 
we  ride  all  night;  then  tall  good  white  man  give  Indian 
money  and  take  me  away.'  He  say,  'Pale  face  good;  but 
my  sisters — what  of  them?  My  mother  and  father — what 
of  them?  I  come  to  know  by  you.'  " 

Ugly  Bear  closed  his  eyes  and  lapsed  into  silence.  By 
and  by  he  straightened  himself  up  and  said,  "This  is  the 
child  of  Singing  Bird;  it  must  be  so.  The  father  was 
killed  in  that  raid  and  she  be  separated  from  children.  She 
hear  that  little  boy  be  in  hostile  camp.  She  run  like  hunted 
deer  over  the  stony  places  and  cry  'Wawa!  Wawa!'  The 
Indian  scout  he  go  after  Singing  Bird  to  bring  back  to 
agency.  She  no  stop  when  he  call  'Halt!'  She  plunge  on 
into  canyon.  Scout  he  shoot  and  there  lay  Singing  Bird 
dead  on  rocks.  We  no  more  hear  'bout  little  boy.  Now 
he  come  back  fine  Indian.  Send  out  runners;  call  my 

49 


50  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

people ;  we  dance  long  time ;  tell  squaws  bake  mescal.  Tell 
all  to  bring  presents,  the  child  of  Singing  Bird  found.  We 
go  to  God's  tent  and  offer  peote.  The  Great  Spirit  smile," 
And  so  at  sunset  one  golden  day  the  Indians  gathered  in 
the  valley  about  the  lodge  of  Chief  Ugly  Bear.  They  came 
softly,  for  it  was  the  moment  of  silence  preceding  the  dis 
appearance  of  the  crimson  sun  behind  the  mountains,  when 
there  is  no  sound  of  wild  life.  They  lighted  a  camp-fire 
and  spread  beautiful  blankets  upon  the  ground  before  the 
child  of  Singing  Bird;  upon  the  blankets  they  laid  their 
gifts  of  pottery  and  woven  ware.  There  were  baskets  over 
which  their  women  had  labored  many  weary  days,  and  into 
which  they  had  woven  the  traditions  of  a  race;  designs 
passed  down  from  mother  to  daughter,  through  endless 
generations.  Wawa  bowed  his  head  and  wept;  he  could 
not  speak;  no  words  came  to  his  lips;  but  what  of  words  at 
such  moments?  They  jar  and  confuse. 

About  the  camp-fire  they  danced  and  sang  and  feasted 
upon  the  mescal  that  had  baked  three  days  in  the  earth- 
oven.  While  from  the  desert  came  the  howling  of  the 
coyotes,  their  weird  voices  rising  and  falling  upon  the  night 
wind,  until  the  midnight  hour.  Far  into  the  night  it  was 
when  Wawa  lay  down  upon  a  blanket  beneath  the  deep  dark 
sky.  He  listened  for  the  cry  of  the  coyote,  but  they  had 
gone  to  rest.  Then  he  looked  into  the  dark  heavens  and 
watched  the  great  stars  creep  along  their  paths. 

"My!  My!  They  are  big  and  bright  and  so  near,"  he 
murmured,  "God  is  surely  watching  over  us.  Justice  comes 
slowly,  because  not  all  people  think.  I  will  wait.  I  will  not 
hate.  How  can  I  hate  with  such  a  world  of  beauty  and 
mystery  about  me?"  Then  he  fell  asleep  as  the  child 
Wawa. 

The  dancing  continued  and  the  muffled  sounds  from  the 
tom-tom  rolled  down  the  valley  among  the  black  shadows. 
Just  before  dawn  Wawa  awakened ;  he  heard  sweet  sounds ; 


OLD  MEMORIES  AWAKENED  51 

someone  was  singing;  he  raised  himself  and  sat  upon  the 
ground  and  listened.  He  thought  the  voice  was  that  of  a 
young  girl.  The  melody  rose  higher  and  higher,  then  fell 
in  soft,  mournful  cadences.  Up  through  the  darkness  it 
soared  again  and  again,  trembling  with  pathos,  then  died 
out  and  silence  reigned.  "An  angel!  An  angel!"  whis 
pered  Wawa.  Something  was  struggling  up  from  the 
shadows  of  the  past.  Slowly  he  raised  his  hands  and  held 
them  up  toward  the  dark  sky.  "My  mother !  My  mother ! 
That  is  a  song  she  sang;  from  out  the  dim  past  it  comes 
back  to  me." 

He  bowed  his  head  and  listened  eagerly,  but  only  the 
voices  of  the  mourning  doves  came  to  his  ears.  They  were 
cooing  to  their  mates,  calling  back  and  forth,  and  then  all 
sounds  were  hushed  and  Wawa  wept  and  waited,  while  the 
sun  shot  up  through  a  bank  of  gray  that  hung  low  in  the 
east,  and  the  whole  earth  was  flooded  with  bright,  golden 
light,  for  day  had  dawned. 

When  the  camp  was  astir  he  inquired  of  the  interpreter, 
"Who  was  singing  in  the  night?  I  never  heard  such 
music.  I  thought  the  Indians  had  no  music.  That  was 
divine!"  The  Indian  answered,  "That  was  my  mother 
singing;  she  not  often  sing  like  that;  all  the  camp  keep 
still  and  listen."  "I  cry  and  wish  she  sing  more,"  Wawa 
continued.  "That  sweet  voice,  throbbing  through  the  dark 
ness,  trembling  with  pathos,  brought  back  my  childhood 
and  I  felt  the  presence  of  my  mother,  but  I  thought  the 
voice  that  of  a  girl.  You  tell  me  each  singer  uses  his 
own  words — improvises  to  suit  the  melody  and  the  occasion? 
What  a  pity,  what  a  shame,  the  Indians  keep  no  records. 
Lost !  Yes,  I  tell  you  everything  my  people  once  possessed 
is  lost." 

The  stranger  was  no  longer  the  child  Wawa,  but  Dr. 
Nachita,  protesting  bitterly  against  the  fate  of  his  race. 


52  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

Late  in  the  day  little  groups  of  Indians  came  to  discuss 
land,  and  treaty,  and  annuity  problems.  Through  the  in 
terpreter  the  doctor  learned  many  things  regarding  the  dull, 
aimless  life  they  led,  and  the  utter  lack  of  hope  and  initi 
ative  among  those  living  upon  reservations. 

"There  must  be  a  change.  Just  how  it  will  come  about 
I  cannot  say,  understand,  but  I  will  not  rest  until  something 
is  done  to  stop  this  retrograde  movement  of  my  people. 
But,  my !  my !  who  comes  here  ?  Such  grace  and  beauty ! 
Just  like  a  young  fawn!  The  white  women  should  see 
this  pretty  creature.  Envious?  I  should  say." 

A  young  Indian  girl  approached  and  sat  down  quite  close 
to  him.  He  continued  the  conversation  with  the  interpreter 
and  looked  very  grave,  with  his  eyes  turned  toward  the 
canyon.  "I  must  not  frighten  the  pretty  child;  she  would 
run  like  the  wild  deer  that  she  is.  Well !  Well !  I  never 
saw  one  so  beautiful.  The  sunset  colors  tint  her  olive 
skin  and  jet  black  hair.  How  wonderful!  Her  brown 
bare  ankles  and  the  beads  and  bracelets,  and  that  pretty 
figured  dress ;  'short  sleeves  and  low  neck,'  the  ladies  call  it. 
My.  but  I  wish  they  could  see  her!  They  would  go  mad 
with  jealousy.  My,  if  I  could  only  paint  pictures  on 
canvas!  O,  yes,  I  have  the  picture  in  my  head,  but  say, 
that  girl  is  marvelous."  At  that  moment  she  looked  up  into 
the  grave  face  of  Dr.  Nachita,  as  a  young  deer  might  look 
upon  a  strange  creature  in  repose.  Her  large,  black  eyes 
glinted  and  sparkled  like  dew  drops  in  the  bright  sun 
light. 

The  doctor  spoke  to  "the  child,"  as  he  called  her,  and  in 
his  heart  he  thanked  Heaven  that  he  was  a  bachelor.  He 
smiled  upon  the  whole  family,  for  the  mother  and  father 
were  close  at  hand,  and  for  the  moment  he  forgot  to  upbraid 
the  pale  face. 

Months  afterward  a  reporter  asked,  "Have  you  ever 
loved  an  Indian  woman,  doctor?"  "Well,  no,  but  last  sum- 


OLD  MEMORIES  AWAKENED  53 

mer  I  thought  I  was  in  love  with  a  very  young  Indian  girl 
— only  fifteen,  understand.  My !  my !  but  she  was  beautiful ! 
Hers  was  just  natural,  simple,  unconscious  beauty,  and  I 
always  associate  a  fawn  with  my  memory  of  the  child.  I 
wrote  to  her  after  reaching  the  city,  possibly  twice,  and 
finally  a  letter  came  from  the  mamma,  a  very  crude,  clumsy 
affair,  but  indicating  that  I  might  have  the  girl,  under 
stand;  but  in  the  meantime,  I  had  pondered  over  the  mat 
ter  and  decided  that  the  little  beauty  would  be  compelled 
to  surrender  too  much.  In  the  city  she  could  not  run 
bare-headed,  bare-footed,  and  bare-armed.  That  magnifi 
cent  black  hair  could  not  tumble  about  her  shoulders  and 
frame  her  pretty  face.  She  could  not  romp  along  the  river 
and  climb  the  rocky  trails ;  and  she  would  pine  for  the  wild 
life  and  weep  her  eyes  out,  and  I  would  be  miserable,  too, 
and  wish  her  back  with  her  mamma  and  curse  the  day  that 
I  disturbed  their  simple  pastoral  life.  But,  understand,  I 
carry  the  picture  in  my  memory  and  I  know  that  is  best. 
No  one  can  step  directly  from  that  life  into  this  world  in 
which  we  live,  without  being  disturbed  by  the  change.  She 
was  beautiful,  and  her  voice!  I  hear  it  now — very  low 
and  sweet,  and  her  manner  so  natural  and  artless  and  re 
poseful.  I  saw  her  only  three  times,  always  accompanied 
by  the  mother.  The  last  time  she  sat  nearby  and  while  I 
talked  she  interpreted  for  me.  As  I  smiled  upon  her  she 
looked  down  toward  her  bare  brown  feet,  drew  her  skirts 
about  her,  arose  and  stepped  aside,  without  making  a  sound. 
I  looked  down  and  saw  a  snake  gliding  past  her,  a  long, 
dangerous-looking  fellow.  We  all  jumped  to  our  feet,  and 
almost  instantly  an  Indian  dispatched  the  enemy  with  a 
club.  The  interpreter  said,  'A  bad  omen,  doctor — that 
meant  the  pale  face  who  came  between/  " 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  END  OP  THE  TRAIL 

They  both  paced  the  station  platform;  both  looked 
toward  the  mountains  and  then  into  the  blue  sky  beyond. 
Both  had  the  look  of  dreamers;  the  Indian  and  the  white 
man  "glorious  country;  wonderful  prospects/'  the  pale  face 
remarked.  The  Indian  awakened  from  his  dream  and  re 
plied,  "Yes,  yes,  and  a  strange,  sad  history."  Within  the 
next  five  minutes  the  fact  was  revealed  that  the  Indian  had 
lived  for  years  as  the  foster  child  of  an  old  acquaintance 
and  close  friend  of  the  pale  face  missionary  who  now 
addressed  him.  The  Indian  was  Dr.  Nachita,  and  he  wept 
great  tears  of  joy.  "The  train  is  coming.  I  leave  you 
now;  help  me  to  find  my  lost  sisters,"  he  begged  the  mis 
sionary,  who  replied,  "I  will  search  every  corner  of  this 
locality;  I  know  the  Indians;  my  work  has  been  among 
them;  I  will  employ  every  means  at  my  command  and  I 
will  report  success  or  failure."  As  the  train  thundered  up 
to  the  station  the  two  men  exchanged  names  and  addresses. 
Dr.  Nachita  clasped  the  hand  of  the  stranger,  boarded  the 
train  and  was  gone.  The  pale  face,  Rev.  Silas  Sheldon, 
began  a  long  and  patient  search  among  the  Indian  tribes 
for  the  lost  sisters.  For  a  time  the  task  appeared  hopeless ; 
then  he  wrote  the  doctor,  after  many  weeks,  "This  I  have 
learned  upon  reliable  authority;  your  sisters  were  both 
adopted  by  Senora  Cardoso,  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  Mexican 
miner  of  Sonora.  My  labor  calls  me  into  that  locality.  I 
shall  investigate  every  clue.  Many  changes  there  have 
been  since  you  were  taken  from  your  family  upon  that 
awful  night.  The  people  of  this  region  keep  no  vital  sta 
tistics,  but  I  have  hope;  I  shall  make  every  possible  effort. 
The  Indian  who  furnished  the  clue  also  said  he  was  told 
that  Senora  Cardoso  adopted  many  children,  and  the  family 
had  moved  about  some."  Months  later  Rev.  Silas  Sheldon 

54 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL  55 

wrote,  "I  have  traced  your  sisters  and  find  they  both  died 
years  ago.  The  foster  mother  was  deserted  by  her  wealthy 
husband  who  married  a  beautiful  young  girl  and  left  Sonora. 
The  foster  mother  also  disappeared,  leaving  no  trace;  but 
it  seems  she  adopted  among  other  children  a  boy;  I  am 
upon  his  trail;  he  will  know  the  whereabouts  of  the  little 
boy  your  oldest  sister  left."  Dr.  Nachita  replied,  "Find 
the  boy;  send  him  to  me;  don't  let  him  slip  through  your 
fingers.  I  am  willing  to  give  up  all  I  possess  and  start  life 
all  over,  if  only  I  can  have  my  sister's  child;  I  long  to  do 
for  him  what  the  pale  face  has  done  for  me.  This  is  the 
one  link  that  binds  me  to  the  past;  give  me  this  boy  and  I 
will  educate  him  and  help  him  to  be  a  good  man;  a  worthy 
Indian ;  an  honor  to  my  race."  Three  months  passed,  dur 
ing  which  time  Dr.  Nachita  heard  only  once  from  Rev.  Silas 
Sheldon,  as  follows,  "I  am  tracing  even  slight  clews;  have 
many  exciting  and  interesting  experiences;  have  patience, 
doctor."  Then  one  evening  months  afterward,  into  the 
doctor's  office  walked  the  Rev.  Silas.  "The  boy!  What 
of  him?  Tell  me,"  cried  the  doctor  with  excitement,  fear 
and  hope  all  written  upon  his  face  and  in  his  manner. 
"Yes,  it  is  a  long  story  full  of  thrills,"  the  missionary  con 
tinued.  "It  led  me  far  into  Mexico  and  to  the  door  of 
many  adobe  homes.  Once  I  was  sure  success  had  crowned 
my  efforts.  My  Spanish  interpreter  came  running  head 
long  into  the  hotel  where  we  stopped.  'I  have  found  the 
child!  I  have  found  him,'  he  stammered.  'The  mother 
gave  him  to  a  family  living  fifty  miles  away,  and  just  re 
cently  they  have  moved  into  town.  The  foster  father  will 
bring  the  boy  here  and  turn  him  over  to  you  for  twenty 
dollars.'  'Go  tell  him,'  I  said,  'that  I  will  await  him  here 
arid  the  money  will  be  paid  when  he  delivers  the  boy  into 
my  care/  Evening  came  and  so  did  the  Mexican  with  the 
child,  a  bright-eyed,  healthy,  intelligent  youngster.  Well, 
doctor,  I  was  so  overjoyed  I  could  not  maintain  a  semblance 
of  dignity;  I  fairly  danced  about  the  room.  'I  will  send 


56  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

him  to  Dr.  Nachita  on  the  first  train,  early  in  the  morning 
by  the  first  train  going  north.'  I  sang  this  song  and  gave 
thanks  all  through  the  evening.  I  kept  the  little  fellow 
close  beside  me ;  I  feared  some  trick  planned  to  extort  more 
money;  I  held  him  in  my  arms  for  hours,  and  slept  with 
him  at  my  side.  Morning  came — after  a  wakeful  night — 
and  as  I  was  preparing  to  go  to  the  depot,  again  the  Span 
iard  came  running  pell-mell,  greatly  excited  and  out  of 
breath.  He  scarcely  could  speak.  'Wait !  Wait !'  he  stam 
mered;  'don't  send  the  boy  to  Dr.  Nachita;  we  are  the 
victims  of  a  ruse.  The  boy  you  are  seeking  died  nearly 
a  year  ago.  This  is  a  Mexican  child;  he  is  one  of  a  very 
large  and  very  poor  family.  An  Indian  woman  exposed  the 
fraud  to  me.  She  learned  what  was  being  done  and  said, 
"Me  no  let  them  fool  Indian  doctor  that  way."  ' 

Dr.  Nachita  leaned  forward  with  his  head  resting  upon 
his  hands  throughout  the  narrative,  listening  eagerly  and 
longing  for  a  ray  of  hope — a  message  from  the  past.  When 
the  Rev.  Silas  Sheldon  finished  his  story,  the  Indian  who 
had  lost  every  relative  on  earth  uttered  no  sound,  but  deep 
lines  were  on  his  face  and  great  tears  fell  from  his  eyes, 
and  he  had  found  one  more  noble,  loyal  pale  face  friend. 
One  more  link  had  been  forged  in  the  brotherhood  of  man ; 
and  in  God's  garden  bloomed  another  rare  plant — Friend 
ship. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  MIDNIGHT  CALL 

The  doctor  sat  dreaming  in  his  dusky  den ;  always  dream 
ing  of  the  Indians  out  upon  the  plateaus  and  down  in  the 
dark  valleys  of  the  rock-ribbed  West.  The  telephone  bell 
rang:  Tonto  called,  "Come  quick,  doctor,  Chiquita  is  sick; 
you  can  help  her;  come  to  the  old  place;  where  we  lived 
before  we  went  among  the  Indians."  "Yes!  Yes!  I  am 
coming!  Be  quiet,  Tonto;  it  is  probably  nerves;  I  say 
the  illness,  it  may  be  only  nerves;  artists  are  high-strung 
folks,  you  understand."  He  hung  up  the  receiver,  caught 
up  his  coat  arid  hat  and  put  them  on  as  he  ran  into  the 
street. 

There  was  no  sign  of  street  cars  in  either  direction,  so 
he  jogged  along  on  foot,  and  found  Tonto  waiting  at  the 
entrance  of  a  tall,  delapidated  rooming  house.  They 
climbed  the  long  stairs  and  groped  along  the  dim  corridor, 
Tonto  leading  the  way  to  a  small,  poorly-lighted  room  on 
.the  third  floor.  There  upon  a  dull  brown  couch  lay  the 
beautiful  wife  of  Tonto.  She  was  clad  in  a  dainty  robe  of 
pale  pink  and  her  black  hair  tumbled  about  her  fine  head 
and  shoulders  in  fluffy  waves.  When  they  entered  Chiquita 
lay  apparently  asleep.  "What  seems  to  be  the  trouble?" 
the  doctor  asked.  "Worry !  worry !  doctor.  Chiquita  knows 
her  worth.  She  is  a  great  actress,  but  the  managers  they 
know  nothing  of  art.  They  do  not  appreciate  Chiquita's 
gifts."  At  that  moment  Chiquita  raised  her  head,  ex 
tended  a  jeweled  hand,  and  faintly  smiled.  Her  low,  rich 
tones  thrilled  the  listener  when  she  said,  "Hubby  dear  was 
so  kind  to  call  you,  and  you  were  so  kind  to  come.  I 
suffer  much  at  times.  Just  now  I  am  comfortable."  "My ! 
my !"  the  doctor  mused,  "she  might  have  been  a  queen,  a 
princess,  or  anything  that  called  for  beauty  and  languid 

57 


58  02V  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

charms/'  "She  must  have  rest  and  quiet;  her  nerves  are 
exhausted ;  give  up  the  stage  for  a  little  time  and  rest/'  he 
advised.  Chiquita  raised  herself  and  sat  up.  "Yes,"  she 
said,  "that  is  what  we  plan  to  do.  We  are  going  West  and 
live  with  the  Indians.  I  am  tired  of  the  white  people. 
Tonto  says  his  people  will  love  me  and  make  me  their 
princess.  I  hate  managers  and  actors.  I  still  have  money 
and  we  will  go  and  live  the  real  Indian  life." 

When  they  parted  at  the  entrance,  Dr.  Nachita  said, 
"Tonto,  my  boy,  you  were  fortunate  in  having  more  than 
your  share  of  good  looks."  Chiquita  is  a  charming  woman, 
but  not  over  strong,  and  she  has  known  the  gilded  side  of 
life.  You  have  a  difficult  position,  Tonto.  Do  your  best. 
Remember  we  are  Indians,  and  prejudice  has  wrecked  Chi- 
quita's  stage  career.  Perhaps  it  will  be  well  to  go  among 
the  Indians."  Tonto  hurried  back  to  the  dingy  rear  room, 
and  Chiquita  poured  out  a  torrent  of  ill-humor  upon  the 
managers  and  stage  folks. 

"Think  of  it,  Tonto,  I  played  with  the  best  actors,  the 
very  best !  Who  have  they  now  playing  my  parts  ?  Third- 
rate  dummies !  Tonto,  I  want  the  free,  unrestrained  life 
of  the  Indians.  I  long  for  the  mountains.  I  shall  smother 
in  this  stuffy  place." 

Tonto  spoke  slowly:  "Well,  Chiquita,  you  can  be  a  queen 
out  there.  Many  Indians  are  fine.  Look  at  Dr.  Nachita. 
I  am  proud  of  him.  And  Starlight  is  a  noble  woman.  There 
are  few  like  Starlight.  She  sings  like  the  birds." 

"O,  hubby,  dear,  let  us  go.  Let  us  go!  I  shall  go  mad 
in  this  room.  Why  did  I  leave  my  own  dear  land?  I  do 
not  know.  My  family  are  proud  and  rich.  The  people 
there  love  art,  real  art,  such  as  mine.  The  mountains  are 
always  near-by,  and  the  skies  are  never  clouded.  Always  a 
deep,  deep  blue,  and  I  was  happy  and  carefree." 

Tonto  knelt  beside  the  couch,  kissed  her  fervently  and 
whispered,  "Chiquita,  dear  girl,  are  you  tired  of  me?" 


A  MIDNIGHT  CALL  59 

"O,  no,  no,  Tonto,"  she  sobbed,  "only  this  little  room  seems 
like  my  grave.  Pack  the  few  traps  and  let  us  go  from 
here  by  daylight." 

Her  wish  was  law.  But  as  Tonto  moved  about  the  room, 
his  face  was  sad  and  he  thought,  "How  can  I  keep  pace 
with  this  marvelous  creature?  But  I  will  try,"  he  mur 
mured  very  softly,  "Chiquita  is  the  wild  flower,  the  rose, 
the  lightning,  and  the  avalanche;  she  is  all  nature  com 
bined."  In  the  morning  they  departed  long  before  day 
break;  left  the  dirty,  noisy  city  for  the  wild  and  glorious 
West,  with  glad  hearts. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
LIFE  IN  THE  OPEN 

For  months  Chiquita  and  Tonto  had  journeyed  westward 
across  the  plains.  Mounted  upon  small  brown  ponies  they 
rode  from  camp  to  camp,  lingering  a  week  here,  and  a  month 
there,  until  the  high-strung  Spanish  beauty  was  weary  of 
it  all.  The  heat  and  dust,  and  the  glaring  sunlight  had 
told  upon  her  spirits.  Even  the  gorgeous  sunsets  that 
caused  her  to  cry  out  in  amazement  when  first  she  beheld 
them,  had  now  grown  commonplace,  and  she  was  sad  and 
very  weary  when  at  dusk  one  evening  they  rode  into  a  small 
Indian  village,  in  a  picturesque  spot  upon  the  bank  of  a 
rapid  river.  "O,  hubby  dear/'  Chiquita  cried,  "this  is  the 
place  for  us  to  take  root.  The  scenery  is  wild  and  grand. 
The  Indians  are  fine,  handsome  fellows.  The  air  is  de 
licious  and  I  am  starved." 

And  so  they  bought  a  tiny  ranch  adjoining  the  camp 
and  pitched  their  tepee.  "I  will  weave  baskets  and  em 
broider  moccasins,  hubby  dear,"  she  tossed  her  beautiful 
head  and  continued.  "I  will  make  the  people  love  me, 
Tonto.  I  will  sing  the  Indian  songs,  and  I  will  learn  their 
dances.  I  will  be  an  Indian,  Tonto/'  but  Ah-ee!  Ah-ee! 
prejudice  and  jealousy  beset  them  even  here  among  the 
Indians,  at  the  foot  of  the  great  dark  mountains,  where  to 
the  casual  observer  all  was  simple  and  natural.  Chiquita 
was  fascinated  by  the  dances;  the  crude,  fantastic  sym 
bolism  appealed  to  her  imitative  genius,  and  she  threw 
herself  into  the  Indian  ceremonials  with  vivacity,  and 
brought  down  upon  her  head  the  suspicion  and  contempt 
of  every  woman  in  the  camp.  They  shot  dark,  angry 
glances  toward  Chiquita,  they  drew  away  and  clung  close 
to  their  men.  Chiquita  and  Tonto  kept  open  house  and 
assisted  every  poor  Indian  who  came  to  their  tepee.  But 

60 


LIFE  IN  THE  OPEN  61 

she  was  a  white  woman;  what  did  they  know  or  care  about 
her  great  talent?  Her  beauty  was  dangerous;  she  was  of 
another  order  of  being. 

Tonto  said  to  the  agent,  "Why  are  Indians  not  subject 
to  state  laws?  No  man  is  a  citizen  unless  subject  to  the 
laws  of  the  state  in  which  he  lives.  The  Indian  should  be 
freed  from  supervision  and  compelled  to  obey  the  laws, 
or  feel  the  lash  of  the  laws  until  he  knows  that  consideration 
for  the  rights  of  others  is  the  basis  of  peace." 

Chiquita  said  to  the  agent,  "You  have  no  right  to  build  a 
jail  on  the  reservation,  and  with  the  assistance  of  these 
Indian  lackeys  imprison  the  Indians  at  your  own  will.  It 
is  not  fair  and  just.  They  are  human  beings.  This  whole 
land  once  belonged  to  them.  They  should  be  citizens." 

"You  talk  too  much,"  replied  the  Indian  agent.  "You 
are  not  wanted  here.  You  and  your  old  man  better  clear 
out.  If  you  don't,  I  will  see  that  you  find  it  mighty  un 
comfortable.  I  am  managing  the  Indians  on  this  reservation 
and  I  have  the  entire  government  back  of  me." 

"We  will  go,"  Chiquita  cried.  So  they  mounted  their 
ponies  at  daybreak  and  rode  away  with  scarce  a  farewell 
word  or  backward  glance. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  Pow-Wow 

The  house  was  brilliantly  lighted,  for  Dr.  Nachita  that 
night  entertained  his  friends — Indian  and  pale  face.  There 
met  a  motley  crowd — artist,  musician,  writer,  student  and 
philosopher,  and  the  face  of  the  host  glowed  with  pride 
and  pleasure. 

"To  entertain  people  who  know  something  is  more  satis 
faction  than  to  collect  a  bill  from  a  professional  dead-beat," 
he  said,  with  that  spontaneous,  explosive  mirth  peculiar  to 
the  healthy  boy.  At  these  functions  Dirk  Danhoff  was  the 
doctor's  right-hand  man,  for  Dirk  was  a  born  comedian, 
and  had  been  raised  with  the  Indians ;  he  had  been  admitted 
to  the  secret  lodges  and  knew  their  rituals  and  ceremonial 
dances  and  songs.  Dirk  mimicked  all  that  impressed  itself 
upon  the  vision  or  hearing,  and  the  doctor  said  he  knew 
more  about  Indians  than  any  white  man  living.  Dr.  Na 
chita  brought  in  the  tom-tom  and  instantly  the  place  was 
changed  into  an  Indian  lodge.  The  call  sounded  upon  the 
drum,  and  led  by  Dirk,  the  Indians  swung  into  a  dance 
that  represented  the  graceful,  alert,  shy  movements  of  the 
wild  deer  in  the  forest.  The  drum  marked  the  rhythm  of 
the  dance,  while  the  singing  imparted  a  sense  of  gaiety  and 
agility.  At  the  close  of  this  dance  Dirk  darted  from  the 
room  and  came  back  with  one  of  the  doctor's  Navajo  blan 
kets  and  a  green  and  red  silk  scarf.  The  latter  he  bound 
about  his  head  and  pulled  a  great  shock  of  red  hair  down 
over  his  forehead,  wrapped  himself  in  the  gay  blanket,  and 
then  began  the  Medicine  Dance.  Other  dances  followed, 
and  the  pow-wow  was  in  full  swing.  Chief  Thundertalk 
was  present  and  gave  terse  explanations  of  the  meaning  of 
each  dance,  which  he  said  usually  represented  the  move 
ments  of  some  animal  or  bird,  and  given  by  the  primitive 

62 


THE  POW-WOW  63 

Indians  amid  natural  surroundings,  in  native  costume,  were 
deeply  impressive. 

After  the  Indian  songs,  dancing  and  drum  accompani 
ments,  a  beautiful  half-breed  woman  recited  her  own  Indian 
poems,  with  a  degree  of  grace  and  feeling  that  brought  a 
flood  of  tears.  Then  followed  what  Chief  Thundertalk 
called  "the  civilized  music,"  and  in  his  voice  one  detected 
the  old  scorn  and  derision.  "The  civilized  music"  turned 
out  to  be  C adman  Indian  songs,  artistically  sung  by  a  pale 
face  woman.  But,  ye  gods,  listen !  Madam  Yetta  Leyden, 
a  concert  pianist,  was  there — one  of  the  most  temperamen 
tal  of  pianists.  All  this  Indian  color  and  dancing,  intoning 
and  drumming,  swaying  and  tipping  and  bending,  had 
aroused  her  musical  soul.  After  giving  an  elaborate  de 
scription  of  the  incidents  that  preceded  the  composition,  and 
led  the  composer  to  immortalize  the  scene  in  music,  she  sat 
at  the  piano  and  played  Liszt's  Rhapsody  Number  Six, 
with  a  fire  and  force  that  carried  the  doctor  far  away  into 
the  clouds,  caused  him  to  dream  strange  dreams,  and 
awakened  new  impulses.  Gypsies  seemed  flying  through 
the  air.  Strange  voices  called  to  him.  He  was  no  longer 
the  Indian — Pale  Face  philosopher.  He  loved  fair  and 
talented  women ;  no  longer  the  well-poised  stoic.  He  looked 
about  him,  upon  the  faces  of  the  little  company  and  medi 
tated  in  eloquent  silence.  "Color  be  hanged!  the  white 
women  are  simply  wonderful !  I  love  them  all — understand 
— well,  nearly  all.  Isn't  she  fine?  Isn't  she  fine?  Isn't 
she  fine  ?  My !  My !  Who  cares  about  being  a  mere 
Indian?  The  fellow  who  clings  to  the  old  life  will  never 
arrive,  understand." 

The  doctor  did  not  really  say  these  things  aloud,  but  it 
was  all  written  on  his  face.  The  Indian  Princess — did  she 
ever  exist?  Well,  the  beautiful  dark  lady  in  beads,  and 
head-band,  and  inky  black  braids,  and  gay  striped  over 
dress,  and  sad,  demure  Indian  ways,  arose  and  mentioned 


64  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

going.  "O,  no !  No !  No !  No !"  protested  the  doctor. 
"Come !  Come !  This  way — everybody  assemble  in  the  den. 
Come !  Come !" 

In  the  doctor's  Indian  lodge  they  assembled  about  the  big 
table,  and  there  beneath  the  many  eloquent  reminders  of 
a  departed  civilization,  the  little  company  sat  down  and 
partook  of  a  dainty  repast  from  choice  hand-painted  china 
and  cut-glass.  Some  there  were  who  felt  the  tragedy  of 
the  passing  of  that  primitive  life,  some  who  looked  into 
the  sad  faces  upon  the  walls  and  understood;  whose  eyes 
rested  upon  an  Indian  cradle  and  whose  memory  called 
up  from  the  dim  past  the  life  that  once  encompassed  that 
bit  of  willow  wand  and  grass,  and  heard  the  voices  wafted 
upon  the  wind  down  through  the  years.  While  all  through 
the  hour  Chief  Thundertalk  regaled  the  guests  with  Indian 
interpretations  of  the  White  Man's  philosophy.  Ordinarily 
calm  and  silent,  the  half-breed  poetess  now  gives  vent  to 
bursts  of  mirth  that  justify  her  self-imposed  sobriquet — 
the  Wild  Woman. 

From  a  dark  corner  Dr.  Nachita  dragged  a  pet  cat;  a 
great  handsome  fellow — his  special  object  of  lavish  affec 
tion.  He  coddled  and  held  the  cat  while  the  guests  ate — 
perhaps  because  thirteen  sat  at  the  table,  and  this  extra 
number  broke  the  spell. 

The  company  returning  to  the  drawing  room  marveled  at 
the  surroundings  of  the  full-blooded  Indian,  which  dis 
proved  the  stories  they  recalled  of  the  Red-man  and  his 
lair.  Madam  Yetta  had  departed  and  Dirk  Danhoff  staged 
a  clever  impersonation;  he  assumed  a  feminine  and  foreign 
manner  and  announced: 

"I  always  preface  my  performances  with  an  explanation ; 
the  composition  I  will  now  render  represents  Gods  and 
Devils;  incidentally  the  Gods  and  Devils  get  somewhat 
mixed." 


THE  POW-WOW  65 

He  took  his  place  at  the  piano  and  played  variations  of 
the  Rigoletto  Quartette,  with  madam's  gestures  and  original 
ones  by  Dirk.  The  Wild  Woman  was  roaring,  when  he 
sprang  from  the  piano,  ran  to  Dr.  Nachita  and  closed  the 
performance  with  an  exact  reproduction  of  madam's  words 
and  accent,  "Ven  I  play  vor  you  again,  you  mus'  furnish 
me  better  piano,  one  big  concert  grand;  some  keys  no  work, 
and  it  is  so  aggravate."  The  imitation  was  perfect.  The 
Wild  Woman  gave  signs  of  convulsions,  and  the  guests  de 
parted  in  a  mild  spring  shower.  As  the  last  one  passed 
out  Dr.  Nachita  said,  "In  Sunday  School  they  told  me 
about  the  angels ;  to-night  I  have  been  among  them.  Don't 
forget  to  come  back." 

If  during  the  progress  of  the  reception  a  patient  chanced 
to  call,  a  singular  scene  occurred.  The  patient  was  halted 
at  the  entrance,  and  Dr.  Nachita  ran  with  a  big  cumbersome 
screen,  which  he  adjusted  to  shield  the  caller  from  the 
eyes  of  the  guests.  The  screen  had  seen  long  service  and 
might  have  told  interesting  tales  of  the  coming  and  going 
of  many  people  of  various  colors  and  shades.  Its  wine- 
colored  baize  was  soiled  and  faded,  and  the  manner  in 
which  the  doctor  hustled  it  around  proved  long  and  close 
familiarity.  At  one  time  it  was  adjusted  to  form  a  corridor 
leading  to  the  library.  It  might  fence  off  the  reception 
room.  Again  it  was  dragged  the  length  of  a  long  hall  and 
partitioned  off  the  telephone,  if  some  one  sat  at  the  'phone. 
There  was  no  end  to  the  uses  the  doctor  had  for  this  aged 
screen.  Occasionally  it  toppled  partly  over,  when  too 
hastily  adjusted,  but  the  doctor  had  shot  down  the  hall  in 
the  lead,  and  horror  of  horrors,  the  guests  actually  saw  the 
patient — maybe  a  dark-skinned  foreigner  or  a  pale  mulatto. 
Patients  were  distributed  the  length  of  the  house — in  the 
library — the  den — sleeping  chambers — and  kitchen — pos 
sibly  depending  upon  their  social  standing.  No  East  Indian 
juggler  could  surpass  the  doctor's  manipulation  of  the  big 
screen.  Not  only  mystery,  but  a  touch  of  tragedy,  clung 


66  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

to  this  article  of  furniture,  in  its  journeyings  up  and  down 
and  across  the  hall,  for  Dr.  Nachita,  big  of  heart  and  sen 
sitive  beyond  belief,  was  protecting  his  patient  from  race 
prejudice — from  color  prejudice — and  yet  prejudice  is  in 
reality  not  against  color,  but  against  mental  characteristics 
— customs — environments.  When  these  are  made  to  harmo 
nize,  color  prejudice  disappears.  Color  is  confounded  with 
race  differences  in  the  minds  of  most  people.  Dr.  Nachita 
was  the  soul  of  kindness,  and  to  his  mind  the  screen  jug 
glery  afforded  a  solution  to  the  problem.  But  through  haste 
and  long  habit  he  had  grown  careless  and  left  gaps  and 
openings,  at  times,  through  which  the  party  in  the  reception 
room  saw  plainly  the  party  passing  behind  the  screen,  and 
the  affair  dwindled  into  a  farce — a  useless  expenditure  of 
time  and  energy — except  that  the  patient  placed  a  world  of 
confidence  in  the  wisdom  and  caution  of  the  big  Indian  doc 
tor,  who  shielded  his  patients  from  public  prejudice,  which 
he  branded,  "a  form  of  tyranny  equalling  that  of  the  kings 
and  barons  of  any  age  or  country." 

Not  only  was  the  doctor's  home  a  mecca  for  all  Indians 
stranded  or  not  stranded;  but  many  an  impostor  and  fake 
Indian  actor  and  actress  found  Dr.  Nachita  an  easy  prey. 
He  could  not  refuse  a  call  for  help — and  so  the  money 
flowed  in  and  out  from  his  pocket,  as  the  procession  passed 
through  his  bachelor  quarters.  Of  course,  they  all  loved 
him  and  told  him  so,  and  "crocodile  tears"  flowed  freely 
when  the  caller  was  a  stranded  beauty  who  possessed  great 
talent  and  hard  luck. 

Big-hearted  Dr.  Nachita!  All  are  richer  for  having 
known  him;  the  Indian  who  gathers  to  himself  even  sick, 
homeless  cats. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  INDIAN'S  GOD 

At  sunset  they  rode  due  south,  along  a  narrow  valley 
with  the  mountains  close  upon  their  right.  "Look,  Tonto, 
there  is  an  opening  between  the  mountains  down  yonder. 
See  how  the  light  shines  through ;  it  looks  like  a  great  shaft 
of  light  coming  through  an  open  casement  into  a  dark  room." 
Chiquita's  voice  had  the  old  child-like  buoyant  ring.  They 
rode  on  for  a  short  distance  and  suddenly  came  out  into  the 
bright  crimson  sunlight.  They  had  reached  the  opening  in 
the  mountains,  and  there,  as  through  a  window,  they  saw 
the  setting  sun.  Dismounting,  they  climbed  a  ledge  of 
rock  that  shelved  out  into  the  gateway  between  two  val 
leys.  Above  a  great  sea  of  misty  shadows,  and  dimly  out 
lined  mountain  peaks,  the  crimson  sun  was  dipping  down 
ward.  "Look  !  Look !  Tonto,"  she  pointed  toward  a  little 
shining  stream  that  coiled  among  the  dull  greens  and  grays 
and  was  lost  in  the  shadows.  "Just  like  a  silver  ribbon," 
murmured  Chiquita. 

Beyond  the  valley  the  dim  outlines  of  jagged  mountains 
were  penciled  through  the  dusky  vapor,  and  through  the 
air  the  rays  of  gold  and  crimson  and  violet  quivered  and 
shifted.  Far  out  upon  the  rocky  ledge — one  foot  upon  its 
very  brim — Tonto  stood  erect,  with  bared  head.  Chiquita 
raised  both  hands  and  cried,  "Superb !  Enchanting !  Won 
derful!  Such  color!  Just  like  dear  sunny  Spain  where 
the  mountains  and  valleys  and  the  sunsets  are  always  glor 
ious!  Why  did  I  come  away?"  A  tremor  passed  through 
her  body  and  she  wept,  all  unheeded  by  Tonto,  who  was  lost 
in  wonder  and  surprise.  They  lingered  spellbound,  while 
the  crimson  and  gold  sank  into  purple  and  gray.  Then 
out  from  the  stillness  came  the  sound  of  a  little  silver  bell. 
"Ding — dong — ding—  dong"  the  clear  tones  drifted  through 

67 


68  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

the  waves  of  light  and  echoed  down  the  narrow  valley. 
Back  and  forth  from  peak  to  peak  the  sounds  were  tossed — 
"Ding — dong — ding —  dong,"  in  measured  rhythmic  cadence. 

The  sun  disappeared  and  darkness  crept  over  the  valleys. 
As  Tonto  assisted  Chiquita  from  the  ledge,  he  whispered, 
"That  was  the  Indian's  God  performing  a  miracle.  Now 
we  must  hurry  on — we  lingered  too  long.  The  bell,  I  think, 
is  on  up  that  trail — we  will  follow."  In  a  moment  they  had 
remounted  and  were  climbing  up  a  sloping  path.  The  bell 
had  ceased  ringing  when  they  rode  out  upon  a  small  plateau 
and  saw  lights.  The  bell  had  led  them  to  a  little  mission 
that  clung  to  the  rocks.  Off  toward  the  south  a  camp-fire 
flared  up  against  the  dark  sky,  and  here  and  there  great 
stars  were  stationed  like  night  sentinels.  The  old  padre 
had  gone  on  a  mission  to  the  village  not  far  away,  and  the 
French  cook  was  alone.  She  welcomed  the  night  wanderers 
and  spread  a  royal  feast  of  vegetables,  and  wild  game,  and 
honey.  They  had  not  tasted  food  since  early  morning,  for 
they  had  journeyed  all  day  through  an  uninhabited  country, 
hence  the  little  mission  was  a  real  haven  for  them.  "Do 
not  be  afraid  when  the  night  owls  hoot  and  the  wildcats 
cry/'  the  good  cook  said,  "they  are  always  with  us  up  here. 
After  awhile  you  listen  for  them,  and  would  be  a  bit  lone 
some  without  them."  Tonto  laughed.  "I  was  raised  with 
wild  animals,"  he  replied. 

On  the  following  morning  they  were  down  in  the  valley 
upon  the  trail,  when  the  old  cook  rung  the  matin  bell  at  six 
o'clock.  Chiquita  had  said,  "We  must  hurry,  Tonto.  A 
strange  illness  is  upon  me."  The  sun  was  high  up  toward 
the  zenith  and  it  was  near  noon  when  they  reached  an 
Indian  village  where  Tonto  had  friends.  A  tall  chief 
welcomed  them  to  his  lodge  close  by  a  little  river  that 
came  tumbling  down  from  the  mountains.  "O,  hubby  dear, 
this  is  charming,"  Chiquita  murmured. 

And  here  it  was  that  the  little  Wawa  first  opened  his 
dark,  sad  eyes  upon  the  big  world.  "We  will  call  him 


THE  INDIAN'S  GOD  69 

'Wawa,'  "  Chiquita  said,  "for  when  he  came  I  thought  of 
Dr.  Nachita.  That  is  the  doctor's  Indian  name.  By  and 
by  we  will  give  him  another  name  by  which  the  world  will 
know  him."  The  Indians  were  very  kind  and  shared  with 
Tonto  all  they  possessed.  There  was  no  agent  nearby, 
and  the  women  of  the  lodge  were  old,  and  quite  deaf.  After 
a  few  days  all  the  able-bodied  men  took  the  trail  in  search 
of  wild  game.  Tonto  joined  the  hunt,  from  which  they 
returned  heavily  laden.  A  great  fire  was  kindled  and  the 
flesh  of  bear  and  deer  roasted  upon  sticks  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way.  Chiquita  was  quite  happy.  Tonto's  share 
of  the  pelts  would  bring  quite  a  little  sum.  Her  money 
was  exhausted  and  she  had  tired  of  Indian  life.  Those 
primitive  people  could  never  understand  moody,  impetuous, 
big-hearted,  artistic  Chiquita.  She  had  placed  herself  be 
yond  the  pale  of  both  Indian  and  white  race.  She  no  more 
comprehended  her  position  than  did  the  silent,  patient 
Indian  women  comprehend  Chiquita's  dramatic  gifts. 

Tonto  sold  the  furs  to  a  trader  and  they  were  about  to 
leave  when  word  came  that  his  only  relatives  living  two 
hundred  miles  away  were  in  deep  distress.  Leepool,  his 
cousin,  was  very  ill.  Two  hundred  miles  was  a  small 
matter  to  an  Indian  who  possessed  a  good  pony.  So  Tonto 
left  Chiquita  and  the  little  Wawa  with  his  friends  and  rode 
back  toward  the  north.  He  covered  forty  miles  of  Indian 
trail  and  lodged  for  the  night  with  a  friend.  The  family 
slept  outside  in  tepees.  Tonto  was  given  the  "spare  bed" 
in  a  log  hut — their  winter  quarters  which  they  would  move 
into  when  the  real  cold  nights  came.  The  "spare  bed"  con 
sisted  of  a  rickety  wooden  bedstead,  without  furnishings 
save  a  pair  of  rusty  springs.  Tonto  spread  out  his  horse 
blankets  upon  the  springs  and  used  his  bag  of  horse  feed 
for  a  pillow.  Nearby,  in  a  bunk  against  the  wall,  an 
Indian  in  the  last  stage  of  tuberculosis  tossed  about  upon  a 
bearskin,  but  Tonto  slept  through  sheer  exhaustion.  Toward 
morning,  however,  he  was  aroused  by  strange,  uncanny 


70  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

sounds  that  seemed  to  come  from  overhead,  and  underneath, 
and  all  directions  at  the  same  instant.  The  place  was  very 
dark.  He  raised  himself  upon  one  elbow  and  listened. 
Then  he  lay  down  and  laughed  outright — "Rats !"  An  army 
of  them  were  scampering  along  the  logs  and  sliding  down 
the  corners  of  the  room.  Tonto  dismissed  them  from  his 
thoughts  and  fell  asleep;  soon  he  was  awakened  from  a 
dream  where  he  was  sliding  down  a  steep  bank  into  a  rapid 
river.  As  he  wakened  he  felt  the  bag  of  horse  feed  moving 
from  beneath  his  head.  He  sprang  up  and  planted  both 
feet  in  a  mass  of  oats  upon  the  floor.  The  rats  had 
gnawed  into  the  bag  and  were  carrying  away  his  horse 
feed.  He  gathered  up  what  was  left  into  a  blanket,  took 
it  outside  where  the  pony  was  tied  to  a  tree,  placed  it 
within  reach  of  the  horse  and  threw  himself  down  upon 
the  bare  ground,  drew  the  blanket  over  him  and  passed  the 
early  morning  hours  in  peaceful  slumber. 

After  breakfast  his  friends  induced  him  to  leave  the  pony, 
walk  two  miles  to  the  railway  station  and  go  by  train  to 
within  eleven  miles  of  his  destination,  which  advice  he  fol 
lowed.  It  was  after  dark  when  he  left  the  train  and  started 
over  the  rough  wagon-road  toward  the  little  ranch  of  Wild 
Cherry,  his  mother's  sister,  and  Leepool,  her  son.  It  was 
a  lonely  bleak  trail,  most  of  the  way  along  a  wide  drainage 
ditch,  but  Tonto  pulled  his  hat  low  down  over  his  face, 
shoved  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  pressed  onward.  The 
messenger  had  said,  "Leepool  will  die — the  Medicine  Man 
he  say  so."  Tonto  must  reach  them.  Wild  Cherry  and  the 
boy  had  been  very  kind  to  him  when  he  was  left  mother 
less.  He  was  thinking  of  these  things  when  out  from  the 
black,  still  heavens  descended  one  of  those  swift  storms  that 
strike  terror  through  weak  hearts  in  the  north.  A  blinding 
flash  of  lightning  would  send  a  blaze  of  light  over  the 
landscape,  and  up  from  the  ground  straight  before  Tonto 
would  spring  black,  horrid-looking  creatures,  then  down 
they  fell  with  the  darkness.  The  deafening  peals  of  thun- 


THE  INDIAN'S  GOD  71 

der  shook  the  very  ground,  then  with  the  next  flash  of 
light  up  jumped  the  black  creatures  before  him,  only  to 
sink  back  into  the  darkness.  They  were  the  charred  and 
jagged  stumps  left  after  the  clearing  of  the  land.  Tonto 
bent  forward  and  staggered  on,  keeping  the  road  as  best  he 
could.  The  rain  fell  in  a  little  thin  sheet  from  the  brim 
of  his  hat  and  his  soaked  clothing  weighed  him  down  and 
impeded  his  progress.  By  and  by  the  storm  swept  on  past 
him  and  Tonto  drove  his  body  forward  through  mud  and 
water  as  though  determined  to  keep  up  with  the  storm. 
Then  the  sky  cleared  and  all  the  stars  came  trooping  out, 
and  he  saw  a  dim  light  shining  through  a  little  window.  It 
was  the  log  cabin  of  Wild  Cherry  and  Tonto  had  arrived 
while  Leepool  yet  lived.  The  door  was  unfastened.  He 
knocked  loud,  no  one  answered,  and  Tonto  lifted  the  iron 
latch  and  stepped  inside.  Wild  Cherry,  with  great  effort, 
lifted  herself  from  a  pile  of  skins.  "O,  Tonto !  Tonto ! 
Good  boy!  Where  did  you  come  from?"  she  wailed.  "We 
got  on  until  I  catched  an  awful  cold.  Now  I  no  go  for  milk 
and  Leepool  he  more  sick,  poor  boy !"  Tonto  threw  off  his 
outer  garments  still  dripping  from  the  shower,  in  one 
corner  of  the  room  lay  Leepool  upon  a  wooden  bedstead.  He 
was  very  pale  and  weak,  but  when  Tonto  grasped  his  thin 
hand  and  held  it  between  his  two  warm  palms,  he  smiled  and 
said,  "The  Great  Spirit  must  have  sent  you,  Tonto.  I  am 
so  glad." 

Tonto  bustled  about  and  made  a  pot  of  tea  and  toast  and 
poached  three  eggs.  After  they  had  all  partaken  of  the 
frugal  meal,  he  sat  down  beside  Leepool  and  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  physician's  thermometer.  He  took  the  sick 
man's  temperature  and  his  pulse  with  the  aid  of  his  watch. 
Tonto  knew  that  hope  was  all  powerful  in  restoring  the 
sick.  He  assumed  an  air  of  authority  and  professional 
knowledge  and  said,  "Leepool,  the  white  man's  Medicine 
Man  tells  by  these  instruments  if  the  sick  are  to  live  or 
die;  now  these  tell  me  that  you  will  live;  so  now,  old  boy, 


72  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

you  just  pull  yourself  together  and  live.  I  am  here  to  care 
for  you:  leave  all  to  me."  At  one  A.  M.  Tonto  climbed  up 
the  ladder-like  stairs  to  the  one  low-ceilinged  room  above 
the  living-room.  He  hung  his  wet  clothing  about  the  stove 
pipe  and  lay  down  for  a  few  hours'  rest.  On  the  following 
morning,  by  seven  o'clock,  he  was  on  his  way  to  a  neigh 
bor's  for  milk,  a  journey  on  foot  of  six  miles,  but  what  was 
this  to  Tonto  when  he  knew  the  milk  was  the  very  best 
nourishment  for  Leepool  in  his  weakened  condition?  That 
day  he  cut  a  huge  pile  of  wood,  cleaned  up  a  bit,  and 
cooked  food  for  Wild  Cherry  and  himself.  Soon  after  day 
light  on  the  following  morning  he  started  for  the  little 
station  eleven  miles  away  in  quest  of  groceries  and  a  pane 
of  window  glass  which  was  greatly  needed  to  keep  out  the 
cold  blasts  which  came  from  the  north  in  the  morning 
hours.  The  window  had  been  broken  by  the  wind  during  a 
heavy  thunderstorm  months  before.  He  made  the  entire 
trip  on  foot  over  horribly  rough  roads  and  paths  and 
carried  back  a  big  sack  upon  his  back.  What  he  saw 
in  the  eyes  of  those  two  lonely,  sick  Indians  more  than 
repaid  Tonto  for  his  weary  tramp.  The  window  was 
mended,  the  larder  replenished,  and  Leepool  dragged  him 
self  up  in  the  bed  and  leaned  against  a  pile  of  blankets  and 
murmured  softly,  "This  is  the  Christ  spirit  we  hear  about; 
Tonto  is  a  great  man;  I  must  live  and  watch  him."  Wild 
Cherry  nodded  and  smiled,  and  presently  she  slowly  arose 
and  sat  by  the  blazing  fire.  "I  am  most  well.  Tonto  good 
medicine  man,"  she  said. 

One  incident  laid  heavy  upon  Tonto's  heart,  but  this  he 
kept  strictly  to  himself.  On  the  train  he  had  been  robbed 
of  fifty  dollars,  no  doubt  by  the  man  who  sat  beside  him 
while  he  slept.  He  had  carried  with  him  nearly  all  the 
money  obtained  from  the  trader,  for  if  Leepool  died  he 
must  bear  the  expense  of  the  funeral.  Leepool  was  on  the 
road  to  recovery,  but  Tonto's  funds  were  reduced  so  that  it 


THE  INDIAN'S  GOD  73 

would  be  impossible  for  Chiquita  to  return  to  the  great 
city.  They  must  go  to  some  town  not  so  far  distant. 

Tonto  buoyed  up  his  own  spirits  with  constant  efforts  to 
ameliorate  the  condition  of  Wild  Cherry  and  Leepool.  Four 
days  had  passed.  The  sad- faced  Indian  woman  was  moving 
about  the  cabin  and  trying  to  again  take  up  her  routine  of 
cares,  when  into  the  little  home  stalked  an  officer  with  a 
warrant  charging  Wild  Cherry  with  stealing  clothing  from 
the  dead.  Tonto  was  greatly  shocked  and  knew  not  what 
to  say.  He  had  planned  to  leave  them  on  the  following 
morning,  but  how  could  he  desert  his  only  living  relatives 
at  such  a  moment?  He  had  a  smattering  of  law,  along 
with  his  other  schooling,  and  this  appealed  to  him  as  an 
opportunity  to  test  his  ability.  He  carefully  drew  .from 
Wild  Cherry  all  the  facts  and  patiently  analyzed  the 
details  until  he  was  firmly  convinced  that  she  was  inno 
cent  of  wrong-doing. 

Wild  Cherry  and  her  son  were  the  only  Indians  living 
in  that  township.  They  were  surrounded  by  an  ignorant 
class  of  whites.  A  neighbor  had  sent  for  her  to  come  and 
care  for  his  sick  wife,  while  he  toiled  at  wood  cutting  three 
miles  to  the  north.  Leepool  also  worked  with  the  man. 
Wild  Cherry  had  gone  to  the  neighbor's  cabin  and  remained 
with  the  sick  woman  for  nine  days  and  nights,  and  at  the 
end  of  this  long  vigil  the  patient  had  died.  During  the 
last  three  days,  Meg  Meehen,  who  lived  two  miles  away, 
had  come  to  assist  Wild  Cherry,  for  the  woman  was  grow 
ing  worse.  The  doctor  said  there  was  no  hope  and  the 
husband  must  work.  While  the  two  women  were  "laying 
out  the  body,"  Meg  had  said,  "I  wonder  if  he  would  sell 
me  her  clothes."  "Don't  talk  so,"  Wild  Cherry  replied, 
"the  poor  woman  is  not  yet  cold,  and  to  want  her  clothes 
is  a  sin." 

When  the  end  came  Wild  Cherry  had  hurried  to  the  near 
est  neighbors  for  someone  to  go  and  bring  the  dead  woman's 
husband.  Meg  was  alone  in  the  cabin  at  that  time.  Tonto 


74  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

walked  the  distance  to  and  from  this  neighbor's  cabin, 
timing  himself  by  his  watch  and  found  that  it  took  him 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  to  cover  the  ground,  hence  Meg's 
claim  that  "she  had  never  been  in  the  cabin  a  minute  alone," 
was  proven  false.  Then  Tonto  began  an  inquiry  as  to 
Meg's  reputation  and  found  that  she  was  considered  a  thief 
at  the  general  trading  store  eleven  miles  away,  where  he 
bought  the  groceries.  The  owner  told  him  that  he  was 
compelled  to  watch  his  goods  always  when  Meg  Meehen 
came  in,  for  he  had  caught  her  several  times  trying  to 
make  'way  with  articles.  Tonto  also  found  that  Meg's 
husband  had  been  arrested  once  for  theft. 

With  all  the  evidence  carefully  written  out,  Tonto  took 
with  him  two  neighbor  men  and  began  a  careful  search 
behind  stumps  and  logs  near  the  Meehen  cabin  and  was 
rewarded  by  finding  a  part  of  the  missing  clothing  secreted 
in  a  hollow  log.  The  case  was  called  and  Tonto  appeared 
as  Wild  Cherry's  defender.  The  Indian  could  not  employ 
an  attorney  without  permission  from  the  Indian  department, 
and  this  would  require  a  delay  of  many  days.  The  trial 
was  held  down  at  the  station,  just  three  days  from  the 
date  of  indictment. 

Tonto  laid  his  evidence  clearly  and  concisely  before  the 
judge  and  questioned  Wild  Cherry  as  to  all  the  little  details 
she  had  already  explained  to  him.  He  exhibited  the  cloth 
ing  they  had  found  in  the  woods  near  the  Meehen  home. 
Wild  Cherry  was  a  large,  heavy-set  woman  and  would  be 
unable  to  wear  a  single  garment  that  had  belonged  to  the 
dead  woman.  He  proved  by  the  neighbor  that  Wild  Cherry 
had  been  gone  from  the  cabin  for  well  on  toward  an  hour, 
while  Meg  was  alone  with  the  corpse.  By  his  questioning 
of  Meg  and  her  husband  he  drew  suspicion  down  upon  their 
heads  as  to  their  general  character  and  their  reputation  as 
thieves.  The  outcome  was  that  Wild  Cherry  was  acquitted, 
and  later  Meg  and  her  husband  were  indicted  for  grand 
larceny  by  a  merchant  in  the  next  township. 


THE  INDIAN'S  GOD  75 

Tonto  said  good-by  to  Leepool  and  Wild  Cherry  and 
started  on  his  long  journey  back  to  Chiquita.  He  felt 
rather  guilty  for  having  left  his  wife  and  baby  among 
strange  Indians  for  so  long.  In  due  time  he  reached  the 
lodge  where  he  had  left  his  pony.  Once  mounted  and  out 
upon  the  trail,  the  events  of  the  preceding  days  came  out 
clearly  before  his  mind  and  Tonto  said  aloud: 

"Money  we  must  have,  at  least  enough  to  exist  on,  but 
there  are  things  which  money  cannot  buy.  That  poor 
Indian  woman  no  doubt  would  have  lost  her  little  home 
stead  had  she  been  left  to  the  mercy  of  her  white  neighbors. 
And  Leepool  surely  would  have  died  without  proper  nour 
ishment  and  a  new  grasp  upon  hope." 

The  value  and  power  of  justice  stood  out  in  Tonto's 
mind  as  never  before,  and  the  helplessness  of  the  unedu 
cated,  isolated  Indian  had  never  occurred  to  him  as  at  this 
moment. 

It  was  a  long,  dreary  journey,  but  at  last  it  came  to  an 
end  just  at  nightfall,  when  Tonto  rode  up  to  the  lodge  of  his 
Indian  friends  and  found  Chiquita  suffering  one  of  her  old 
spells.  Never  before  since  childhood  had  Tonto  visited 
the  Indian  homes  in  winter.  When  he  left  for  the  north 
the  family  were  living  outside  on  the  river  bank  in  tepees. 
During  his  absence  the  weather  had  turned  cold  and  twelve 
people,  including  Chiquita  and  the  baby,  were  huddled  in 
one  large  room.  The  aged  grandmother  of  the  family 
sat  crouched  over  the  fire,  picking  her  sore  eyes.  The  oldest 
son  was  coughing  incessantly  with  tuberculosis,  scattering 
the  dangerous  germs  about  the  ill-kept  and  overheated 
room.  Tonto  felt  sure  that  the  temperature  of  the  room 
was  over  one  hundred,  and  he  soon  made  an  excuse  to  go 
outside  and  look  after  his  horse.  In  reality,  he  felt  that  he 
must  go  outside  in  search  of  fresh  air.  He  was  not  long 
in  coming  to  a  decision.  If  Chiquita  was  able,  they  would 
leave  in  the  morning. 


76  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

When  Chiquita  awakened  from  her  long,  heavy  sleep, 
she  was  in  bad  humor.  Tonto  had  stayed  away  a  long  time, 
she  pouted.  The  little  Wawa  was  pale  and  ill.  "Life  in 
this  hovel  is  an  inferno.  I  was  happy  outside  with  the 
birds  and  trees,  but  now  the  weather  is  cold  and  we  must 
stay  inside.  They  are  filthy.  The  children  have  vermin. 
That  man  huddled  in  the  corner  and  the  six-year-old  boy 
have  consumption.  The  agent  says  the  old  women  have 
trachoma.  What  the  dickens  that  is,  I  don't  know,  but  I 
am  going  away  from  here,  Tonto.  I  am  sick  of  grit  in  my 
food.  The  agency  doctor  says  we  will  lose  Wawa  if  we 
stay  here.  More  than  half  the  Indian  children  die.  Some 
women  lose  all  their  children,  and  yet  the  stupid  creatures 
keep  on  propagating.  What  chance  have  the  children?" 

Tonto  looked  at  the  babe  in  Chiquita's  arms,  and  then  he 
began  to  pack  into  a  sack  what  few  articles  they  possessed. 
When  they  rode  away  Chiquita  carried  the  child  upon  her 
back,  strapped  to  an  Indian  cradle. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  PASSING  CLOUD 

The  door-bell  rang  violently.  Dr.  Nachita  dropped  the 
tablet  on  which  he  was  writing  and  hurried  to  admit  his 
caller.  A  small  boy  who  was  very  much  out  of  breath,  and 
frightened. 

"Come,  doctor/'  he  said,  "they  got  Starlight  in  jail." 

"My,  my,"  Dr.  Nachita  exclaimed,  "what  are  you  tell 
ing  me,  boy?  Starlight  in  jail?  What  for?  How?" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  started  with  coat  and 
hat  in  hand.  The  boy  took  him  straight  to  the  little  home 
where  Starlight  had  lived  with  the  baby  and  the  old  nurse. 
Dr.  Nachita  rushed  in,  and  standing  before  the  woman 
exclaimed: 

"What  has  happened?  This  boy  tells  me  Starlight  is  in 
jail.  Where  is  the  baby?" 

The  old  woman  replied  in  a  tense,  high-keyed  voice: 

"I  know  nothing,  only  a  tall  woman  came  with  an  officer. 
She  said  Starlight  had  stole  the  baby — her  brother's  child. 
She  took  the  young  one  away  and  the  officer  took  Starlight. 
I  have  110  place  to  go  so  I  stay  here." 

"My!  My!  This  is  awful,"  cried  Dr.  Nachita,  "Star 
light,  poor  girl!  I  brought  this  all  upon  her.  Whoever 
dreamed  of  such  a  calamity." 

By  this  time  he  was  down  the  steps  and  headed  toward 
the  nearest  police  station,  where  he  learned  that  Starlight 
had  been  booked  on  a  charge  of  kidnaping. 

"My !  My !  Kidnaping !  Whoever  heard  of  such  a 
thing?  Starlight!  Why,  that  girl  wouldn't  kidnap  a  flea. 
Where  is  she  ?  I  must  see  her  at  once." 

A  bailiff  led  him  down  a  long  corridor  to  the  cell  of 
Starlight. 

77 


78  02V  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

"My!  My!  Think  of  such  nonsense  and  injustice,  all 
because  she  is  an  Indian  girl."  He  stormed  along  the  cor 
ridor  to  Starlight's  cell,  but  when  he  looked  upon  the  girl's 
haggard  face,  all  his  Indian  bravery  was  aroused.  No 
sound  escaped  the  lips  of  Starlight,  but  pride  and  scorn 
flashed  from  her  dark  eyes. 

"I  will  bring  the  best  attorney  that  money  can  com 
mand  and  we  will  fight  this  to  a  finish,"  the  doctor  shouted, 
and  fire  shot  from  his  big  eyes.  Then  for  the  first  time  the 
bitter,  humiliating  thought  occurred — The  Reservation 
Indian  cannot  engage  an  attorney  for  self-defense  without 
the  consent  of  the  Indian  agent  and  the  Department  of  the 
Interior.  Starlight  to  exist  in  this  filthy  dark  place  until 
that  is  accomplished?  No!  Never!  "I  will  call  my  white 
friends  to  her  assistance.  I  will  return  and  in  the  meantime, 
understand,  Starlight,  that  I  am  not  idle." 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  Dr.  Nachita  ap 
peared  before  Judge  Thoroughgood,  accompanied  by  two 
influential  citizens,  and  also  the  woman  who  had  taken  the 
babe  from  the  dying  mother's  arms  and  later  carried  it  to 
the  doctor's  home. 

"Lock  me  up,  judge,  but  let  that  innocent  girl  Starlight 
go,"  he  cried,  "it  is  all  a  mistake !  The  mother,  when  dying, 
begged  me  to  find  Starlight  and  give  the  child  to  her  if  she 
would  accept  the  responsibility.  The  father  had  often  said, 
'Starlight  is  the  noblest,  best  woman  in  all  the  world.'  The 
mother  felt  that  Starlight  would  be  a  safe  person  to  trust 
with  this  responsibility,  partly  because  she  knew  that  once 
Starlight  had  loved  the  father  of  her  child. 

"Judge,  this  Indian  girl  has  a  great  future  before  her, 
and  this  is  a  deep  injustice.  She  entertains  a  peculiarly 
bitter  sentiment  toward  the  pale  face  for  certain  well- 
founded  reasons,  understand,  and  I  thought  to  wipe  out 
this  bitterness  by  having  Starlight  become  attached  to  the 
little  helpless  white  babe.  My  plan  was  that  the  whole 


A  PASSING  CLOUD  79 

affair  should  result  in  general  uplift,  understand,  but  my! 
ray !  it  failed  to  work  out  right.  The  child  was  brought  to 
my  home  by  this  woman  beside  me.  She  is  the  woman  who 
took  the  child  from  the  arms  of  the  mother  before  she  died. 
I  labored  for  some  little  time  to  convince  Starlight,  and 
when  she  accepted  my  viewpoint  I  immediately  placed  the 
infant  in  her  arms,  and  here  poor  Starlight  has  landed  in 
jail.  This  is  awful!  awful!  judge.  You  see,  I  have  lived 
with  the  white  people  for  many  years,  judge,  and  I  am  of 
the  opinion  that  nothing  will  wipe  out  the  ill-feeling  be 
tween  the  two  races  except  close  association.  We  must  all 
have  the  same  training,  the  same  interests,  the  same  educa 
tion — then  the  Indian  problem  disappears.  The  whites 
must  give  up  their  prejudice  against  the  Indian  and  treat 
him  as  a  human  being.  Think  of  that  abominable  aunt — 
she  never  had  seen  the  child — never  had  contributed  one 
penny  toward  the  support  of  the  baby.  In  fact,  I  did  not 
know  that  the  child  had  a  single  relative;  and  think  of  her 
pouncing  upon  Starlight  and  having  her  jailed.  And  I, 
you  understand,  was  the  guilty  party,  if  guilt  there  was.  It 
came  about,  understand,  through  my  desire  to  produce  har 
mony.  The  whole  miserable  condition  of  the  Indian  to-day 
is  the  result  of  misunderstanding  between  the  two  races.  It 
is  a  long,  sad  story,  judge,  and  I  would  be  as  bitter  as  the 
average  member  of  my  race,  understand,  had  I  not  lived 
with  the  pale  face  from  childhood/' 

"Well,  Dr.  Nachita,"  the  judge  began  with  deliberation, 
"I  understand  there  was  an  entire  absence  of  premeditated 
wrong-doing  in  this  case.  Just  a  lack  of  foresight  as  to 
possible  consequences.  Of  course,  you  people  are  not  well 
informed  as  to  state  and  federal  laws.  I  understand  the 
education  o*f  the  Indian  along  this  line  has  not  been  what 
it  should  be,  but  the  majesty  of  the  law  must  be  upheld. 
The  accusing  party  invoked  the  law  without  sufficient  evi 
dence  to  substantiate  the  indictment.  I  desire  to  be  humane 


80  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

and  just  in  view  of  the  existing  facts  a  priori.  I  shall  dis 
miss  the  case — it  being  a  propos  de  rien" 

"Well,  judge/'  Dr.  Nachita  interposed,  "does  Starlight 
get  out  of  jail?" 

"Yes,  that  is  the  direct  and  express  object  of  my  con 
templated  procedure,  Dr.  Nachita." 

"Well,  I  appreciate  your  attitude,  judge,  and  I  admit 
that  I  know  very  little  about  law,  although  I  have  lived 
the  white  man's  life  for  about  fifty  years,  but  I  do  recog 
nize  justice  and  fairness  when  I  meet  it.  And  Starlight 
must  not  suffer  for  my  blunders — if  blunder  there  was, 
understand — I  leave  that  for  you  to  decide,  judge." 

Judge  Thoroughgood  questioned  the  witnesses  who  ac 
companied  Dr.  Nachita,  and  the  interview  brought  about 
the  release  of  Starlight  on  the  following  day.  She  went 
back  to  the  little  home  and  the  old  nurse  and  refused  to 
discuss  the  incident  even  with  Dr.  Nachita. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BREAKING  CAMP 

Unusual  signs  of  life  were  visible  about  the  Indian 
quarter  of  a  western  town.  Rev.  Tobias  Waring  who  was 
superintendent  of  the  Indian  Mission,  had  brought  to  the 
village  a  concert  company  for  an  afternoon  concert  in  the 
Mission  House.  There  were  four  ladies  in  the  company; 
one  of  them  a  niece  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Waring.  The  quartette 
had  "come  some  distance  out  of  their  way  to  sing  at  the 
Indian  Mission."  When  the  hour  arrived  the  Indians  en 
tered  the  building  stepping  very  softly,  and  sat  upon  the 
wooden  benches  in  silence.  The  men  sat  on  the  left  and 
the  women  upon  the  right  side  of  the  room.  A  female 
concert  company,  appeared  to  the  Indians  a  queer  innova 
tion.  The  elder  ones  growled,  and  one  ventured  to  say, 
"Indian  woman  no  sing  for  show;  Indian  woman  no  travel 
all  'lone."  But  the  smiling  faces  of  the  four  singers,  and 
their  beautiful  voices  soon  disarmed  even  the  old  men  and 
women,  and  their  faces  lost  their  sadness.  Forgotten  was 
their  hatred  for  the  pale  face,  while  their  souls  were  lifted 
up  above  the  dreary  reservation  atmosphere,  and  they 
drew  a  trifle  nearer  the  pale  face.  While  they  sang  the 
eyes  of  the  quartette  roamed  among  the  dusky  faces,  and 
there  their  leader,  a  tall  blonde  girl,  found  a  familiar  face. 
It  was  the  face  of  Chiquita,  the  once  famous  actress,  now 
changed  almost  beyond  recognition.  The  blue  eyes  of  the 
blonde  met  the  black  eyes  of  her  old  acquaintance.  A  faint 
smile  passed  over  the  features  of  the  dark  woman  who  sat 
in  the  rear  row  of  seats  dressed  in  deerskin  skirt  and  moc 
casins  and  faded  shawl.  She  whispered  to  a  tall  Indian 
man  beside  her,  and  they  left  the  Mission  House.  At  the 
close  of  the  concert  the  blonde  girl  ran  to  the  Rev.  Tobias 
Waring  and  asked,  "Who  are  the  couple  who  left  the  hall 
while  we  sang?"  "They  are  strangers  here;  the  wife  is  a 

81 


82  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

white  woman;  they  wander  among  the  tribes.  I  hear  the 
woman  was  once  a  great  actress."  The  blonde  kept  her 
own  council,  but  stole  away  and  roamed  among  the  tepees. 
Out  upon  the  border  of  the  camp  she  found  Chiquita.  They 
were  making  ready  to  take  the  trail.  Tonto  gathered  their 
belongings;  Wawa  rolled  in  the  sand  before  the  door  of 
the  tepee,  while  Chiquita  lay  inside  on  a  blanket  upon  the 
ground,  smoking  a  cigarette.  The  blonde  girl  had  seen 
Chiquita  upon  the  stage,  in  the  great  roles;  seen  her  ar 
rayed  in  gorgeous  robes  and  decked  with  costly  jewels.  She 
had  listened  when  Chiquita's  deep,  mellow-toned  voice 
moved  vast  t audiences  to  tears — and  this  woman?  Could 
it  be  that  she  was  the  same  Chiquita,  whose  small  shapely 
feet  she  had  seen  covered  with  jeweled  slippers  or  shod 
in  dainty  boots  that  cost  fabulous  prices  ?  The  moccasins 
upon  this  woman's  feet  were  old  and  shapeless  and  filthy. 
"Come  in!"  Chiquita  called  to  her  visitor,  in  a  low  coarse 
voice,  as  she  raised  herself  upon  one  elbow  and  rolled  over. 
"Tell  my  fortune?"  The  blonde  smiled  and  held  out  a 
silver  dollar.  Chiquita  sat  up  and  commanded,  "Sit  down." 
The  blonde  with  awkward  movements  dropped  down  upon 
the  ground.  Chiquita  held  out  one  hand  for  the  money, 
and  began  to  prophesy:  "You  will  marry  for  love,  and 
poverty  will  camp  upon  your  trail."  She  looked  into  the 
blonde's  palm  and  went  on:  "Sickness  will  come  and  love 
will  vanish,  then  you  will  go  back  to  your  music  and  find 
contentment,  which  is  the  most  we  may  hope  for;  but  we 
must  love  first;  there  is  no  escape;  it  is  woman's  fate  until 
she  is  freed  from  self;  I  guess  love  is  about  all  there  is  for 
woman  anyway.  Marry  one  with  ideas,  and  ambition; 
otherwise  you  starve.  Love  dies  out  and  then  you  will 
find  life  aimless  and  hopeless,  but  stick  to  your  music  as 
long  as  you  have  ambition;  but  Great  Peter,  what  use 
telling  you  anything;  you  will  obey  your  feelings,  and  love 
masters  all.  Later  on  you  may  reason  a  trifle,  maybe  not. 
A  letter  is  on  the  way;  a  dark  woman  crosses  your  path; 


BREAKING  CAMP  83 

that  may  prove  to  be  a  black  dog.  You  will  go  on  a  long 
journey  and  meet  a  tall  man."  Chiquita  was  groping  for 
words,  groping  for  ideas  when  suddenly  the  blonde  said: 
"Chiquita,,  come  away  from  this  life.  You  have  changed. 
Come  back  before  it  is  too  late !"  The  woman  who  had 
voluntarily  turned  her  back  upon  wealth  and  fame  and 
civilization,  who  had  tossed  from  her  the  marvelous  gifts 
nature  had  lavishly  bestowed  upon  her,  replied  mournfully : 
"It  is  already  too  late;  the  pale  face  rejected  my  Indian 
husband.  When  you  have  suffered  much  you  are  no  longer 
blind  and  deaf;  courage  and  hope  are  gone.  The  tragedies 
are  not  all  upon  the  stage.  My  ambition — my  pride  and  my 
health  are  gone;  we  have  lingered  here  a  long  time;  we 
buried  my  second  baby  out  there  beside  that  brush,  where 
I  can  see  the  grave  from  the  door  of  the  tepee.  The  money 
is  gone  now  and  we  must  move  on."  She  looked  up  at  the 
face  of  the  blonde,  and  threw  the  stub  of  her  cigarette  upon 
the  ground.  She  went  on,  "I  have  written  a  play  about  a 
white  woman  who  married  an  Indian  for  love  and  lived 
happy  ever  afterward.  I  have  learned  the  ways  of  the 
Indians/  We  are  going  into  the  show  business  as  Indians. 
I  have  written  the  big  managers  and  they  never  reply,  but 
Tonto  and  I  can  manage  to  exist."  "Why  not  sing,  Chi 
quita?  When  you  studied  with  Signor  Badi  we  looked  for 
ward  to  hearing  you  in  grand  opera."  "Yes,  Tonto  and  I 
sing  Indian  songs  in  the  play;  we  at  least  can  live.  The 
Indians  don't  want  us  here.  The  women  are  jealous,  but 
I  have  learned  their  ways  and  I  can  earn  my  living  in 
vaudeville  as  a  squaw."  She  threw  back  her  head  defiantly 
and  coughed.  Deep  lines  were  carved  about  the  once 
beautiful  mouth;  the  whole  face  and  figure  had  grown 
heavy,  dull  and  sensual.  Only  when  she  smiled  one  recog 
nized  the  once  fascinating  actress  who  had  been  courted  by 
famous  men.  The  blonde  looked  down  upon  Chiquita's 
clumsily  shod  feet,  and  up  at  her  unkempt  hair,  and  her 
own  blue  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  got  up  from  the 


84  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

bare  ground,  opened  her  purse  and  emptied  it  into  the  lap 
of  Chiquita.  "Accept  it  in  memory  of  the  days  when  we 
sang  in  the  great  professor's  studio  and  looked  forward  to 
grand  opera/'  the  blonde  whispered.  Just  then  Tonto  led 
the  ponies  up  in  front  of  the  tepee  and  called,  "Come  on, 
Chick;  we  must  be  moving  if  we  reach  the  Lodge  of  Bare 
foot  to-night."  They  had  lingered  to  hear  the  quartette. 
Chiquita  and  the  blonde  went  outside,  and  Tonto  pulled 
down  the  tepee  and  loaded  the  truck  upon  the  backs  of  the 
ponies.  The  three  rode  away  from  the  village  unobserved, 
and  the  blonde  girl  ran  back  to  the  Mission  House  where 
Rev.  Tobias  had  called  an  Indian  policeman,  and  said,  "Go, 
search  for  her." 

At  sunset  the  four  singers  left  the  camp  en  route  to 
the  railroad  station  a  mile  distant.  When  they  reached  the 
hollow  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  below  the  mission,  they  all 
looked  back,  and  there  upon  the  hilltop  stood  the  Indians 
huddled  together ;  their  dark  forms  outlined  against  the  bril 
liant  sky,  and  their  long  shadows  reaching  down  into  the 
hollow,  silent  and  sad  they  watched  the  departure  of  the 
pale  face,  thinking  of  the  beautiful  songs  and  the  sweet 
faces  that  had  brought  one  pleasant  hour  into  their  long, 
dreary  day.  "This  camp  is  well  on  the  road  toward  civili 
zation,"  said  the  Rev.  Tobias  Waring,  who  accompanied 
the  quartette  back  to  the  railroad.  "Last  week  we  enter- 1 
tained  an  Eastern  editor;  he  rode  into  camp  with  a 
black  bear  dangling  from  his  saddle.  I  brought  out  my 
camera  and  demanded  a  picture  of  Mr.  Editor  and  bear. 
While  I  adjusted  the  machine,  the  editor's  horse  became 
restless,  probably  the  bear's  foot  touched  the  animal's 
side.  Suddenly  he  reared,  then  threw  down  his  head, 
and  into  the  air  shot  Mr.  Editor  and  Bruno,  high  over 
the  head  of  the  pony,  and  landed  in  the  tall  grass.  A 
solemn-faced  young  Indian  who  stood  nearby,  threw 
himself  down  upon  the  ground  and  roared  with  mirth.  The 
editor  was  unharmed  and,  later  I  took  the  picture,  but  no 


BREAKING  CAMP  85 

doubt  the  Indian  would  have  laughed  had  the  pale  face 
lain  dead.  Scorn  and  contempt  for  the  stupidity  of  the 
white  man  rang  in  his  voice  and  shone  from  his  black  eyes. 
They  are  a  strange,  unfathomable  people  until  you  know 
them;  but  once  you  know  them,  you  know  that  the  whole 
Indian  problem  is  a  misunderstanding  on  the  part  of  both 
races."  "If  only  I  was  an  artist/'  the  second  alto  said, 
"I  would  paint  them,  they  are  just  gran,d;  such  tall,  grace 
ful,  picturesque  fellows."  The  blonde  girl  was  silent. 
Tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  all  the  while  she  looked  about 
as  though  in  search  of  someone  lost. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  DOWN  GRADE 

The  Cabos  were  established  in  their  old  quarters  in  the 
big  city.  In  the  same  dingy  back  room  on  the  third  floor 
of  a  rooming  house,  Chiquita  stormed  the  "Wick-i-ups"  of 
the  theater  managers,  blustered  and  berated  their  lack  of 
artistic  appreciation,  all  to  no  purpose.  One  manager  gave 
her  a  trial  engagement,  but  he  found  her  imperiousness  un 
bearable.  She  would  drop  her  voice  down  into  the  lower 
regions  and  order  the  furniture  changed  for  the  setting,  the 
draperies  removed,  etc.  "Take  that  out  and  bring  me  a 
blue  drape.  I  want  dull,  red  rugs;  take  them  away  at 
once."  Two  hours  of  Chiquita's  imperialism  closed  the 
scene.  The  manager  dismissed  her  with  an  oath.  The 
adulation  of  Tonto  had  inflated  the  ego  of  poor  Chiquita. 
She  had  grown  coarse  and  bitter  through  experience  with 
poverty  and  wild,  aimless  life  among  the  Indians.  Tonto's 
attraction  was  based  upon  his  picturesque  appearance.  He 
was  of  colossal  build,  quiet  and  graceful  and  sang  soft 
Indian  love  songs.  The  time  came  when  her  love  had 
burned  out,  and  then  she  found  the  Indian  cold  and  in 
different,  dull  she  thought,  and  yet  she  clung  to  him,  for 
she  was  destitute  and  ill,  and  must  exist.  Her  spirit  was 
broken.  Hope  and  ambition  had  fled;  she  had  no  courage 
or  strength  with  which  to  struggle  back  to  her  former 
position,  and  she  did  not  even  see  the  way  whereby  this 
might  have  been  accomplished.  At  times  she  suffered  great 
bodily  pain,  and  in  affright  she  sought  relief  from  drugs, 
thoughtlessly  prescribed,  for  livelihood,  by  physicians  un 
acquainted  with  her  morbid  tendencies.  They  had  no  re 
source  save  the  little  Indian  playlet  Chiquita  had  written 
while  on  the  reservation.  The  dirty  little  tepee  presented 
a  pitiful  scene  to  one  who  knew  Chiquita's  past.  Tonto 
danced;  a  little  dog  frisked  about  an  artificial  camp  fire 

86 


THE  DOWN  GRADE  87 

and  Chiquita  squatted  upon  the  ground  and  beaded  a  moc- 
casiri  or  pretended  to  cook  a  chunk  of  meat  in  the  fire, 
while  Tonto  sang  a  strange  Indian  love  song.  Chiquita 
represented  the  typical  squaw  in  blanket,  beads  and  moc 
casins.  In  the  bright  yellow  spot  light  she  mimicked  the 
Indian  women  who  had  hated  her.  One  day  Tonto  met 
upon  the  street  his  friend,  the  Indian  attorney.  "Come  to 
the  show/'  he  said,  "and  see  our  play.  Chiquita  wrote  it." 
That  evening  the  attorney  went  to  a  small,  dingy,  foul- 
smelling  vaudeville  house  in  one  of  the  city  suburbs,  and 
witnessed  one  of  the  last  dramatic  attempts  upon  the  stage 
of  the  once  famous  actress.  He  did  not  approve  of  the 
commercialization  of  the  Indian.  To  him  it  was  sad  and 
pathetic;  he  had  seen  Chiquita  in  her  famous  characteriza 
tions  of  the  great  roles,  when  she  gave  promise  of  being  the 
greatest  known  actress.  He  was  shocked  by  her  changed 
appearance. 

The  life  of  the  tepee  Indians  never  before  had  appeared 
so  far  away  from  his  life.  To  Tonto  he  said,  "Cabo,  you 
are  wasting  your  time  at  this  business;  you  need  strong, 
vigorous  mental  and  physical  exercise.  Chiquita  has  worse 
than  wasted  her  time  and  talent.  Look  around  you;  the 
type  of  people  who  are  being  amused  by  this  fake  presen 
tation  of  Indian  life  are  not  the  type  that  you  should  seek 
to  please.  They  crave  the  morbid — the  queer  and  irregular. 
They  are  dazzled  by  the  light  and  color.  They  care  nothing 
about  the  progress  of  our  race.  They  have  more  interest 
in  the  painted  clown,  than  they  have  in  all  the  thinkers  that 
time  could  produce.  Thinking  tires  them.  Tonto,  get 
away  from  all  this.  Do  something  toward  the  uplift  of 
our  own  race."  "But  we  must  live  and  at  present  there 
seems  no  other  way."  "Come  with  us  to  the  train  and 
speak  with  Chiquita  of  this  matter,"  Tonto  continued. 
"Wait-only  a  few  moments  until  I  pack  the  traps."  It  was 
a  long  "few  moments"  before  they  appeared,  Tonto  with 
the  tepee  and  all  the  other  paraphernalia  hanging  over  his 


88  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

shoulders,  and  Chiquita  carrying  the  dog  under  her  long 
cape.  Her  manner  was  gruff  and  insolent.  Her  few 
words  were  spoken  in  low,  harsh  tones  and  mixed  with 
Spanish.  She  walked  with  a  slow,  swaggering  gait.  The 
attorney  took  her  arm.  When  they  reached  the  elevated 
station,  as  they  ascended  the  stairs,  her  step  became  clumsy 
and  halting,  and  the  attorney  found  himself  dragging  and 
lifting  the  woman.  When  they  reached  the  platform  she 
fell  sprawling  upon  the  floor.  "Run,  Tonto,  and  bring  a 
physician,"  the  attorney  said;  but  Tonto  grinned  and 
whispered,  "O,  this  is  nothing;  she  took  a  little  too  much 
from  the  bottle  before  we  started."  The  attorney  was 
shocked  and  feared  they  would  be  arrested  when  they 
reached  the  railway  station,  but  Chiquita  could  not  stand 
alone,  and  Tonto  begged  his  friend  to  assist  him  in  getting 
her  aboard  the  train,  otherwise  they  would  miss  their  next 
engagement.  Chiquita  fell  asleep  and  gave  them  little 
trouble  until  they  reached  the  depot.  They  missed  the 
train,  and  had  a  dismal  wait  of  two  hours,  attended  with 
much  anxiety,  at  times,  fearing  an  officer  would  take  the 
intoxicated  Chiquita  from  their  care.  Two  A.  M.  arrived, 
after  what  the  attorney  thought  the  longest  and  most  sad 
and  humiliating  experience  of  his  life.  He  helped  drag 
Chiquita  into  the  car  and  hurried  away,  comparing  the 
scenes  of  the  evening  that  had  passed  with  the  night  when 
he  sought  an  introduction  to  Chiquita,  for  Tonto.  "This  is 
a  terrible  tragedy,"  he  whispered;  "it  involves  the  whole 
Indian  problem.  That  gifted,  beautiful  girl  lost  her  posi 
tion  and  prestige  through  prejudice  for  the  Indian.  It  is 
a  cruel  fate.  All  her  achievements  fell  to  the  ground  be 
cause  she  loved  an  Indian.  Had  Tonto  been  a  successful 
business  or  professional  man  would  this  have  happened? 
I  think  not."  He  clinched  his  fists  as  he  walked,  and 
muttered,  "The  Indian  must  wring  success  from  life,  no 
matter  what  his  handicap.  He  must  have  the  where-with 
to  more  than  exist  before  he  takes  a  wife.  Life  for  our 


THE  DOWN  GRADE  89 

people  has  grown  deeply  complicated.  We  are  compelled 
to  reckon  with  this  complexity.  Poor  girl,  how  fascinating, 
how  beautiful  she  was  that  night  when  Tonto  spoke  with 
her  for  the  first  time.  It  cuts  me  to  the  heart;  I  regret 
having  gone  with  him  to  the  play;  I  hope  it  is  not  too 
late ;  I  hope  Chiquita  will  give  up  this  accursed  stuff.  Poor 
child !  The  Chiquita  I  saw  that  night  at  the  big  theater — 
she  was  of  the  fearless,  impetuous,  temperamental  type. 
Tonto  was  calm  and  powerful  physically.  She  plunged 
into  the  caldron  of  passion  and  dissipation  and  comes  out 
a  wreck.  The  price  was  too  great — poor,  thoughtless  Chi 
quita !  To  know  the  laws  that  govern  this  life  means  to 
choose  the  best.  I  hope  escape  is  possible  for  her.  Sad! 
Sad !  Reason  and  moral  restraint  we  must  have ;  other 
wise,  what  we  call  love  too  often  blinds  and  sears  and 
destroys.  The  child  is  with  Starlight;  that  is  well;  Star 
light  represents  the  nobility  of  our  race." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  VISION 

Dr.  Nachita  raised  one  arm  high  above  his  head,  waved 
his  hand  in  salutation  to  an  invisible  host,  clinched  his  fist, 
and  brought  it  down  upon  the  big  square  table  with  a  bang ! 
"The  time  has  come,"  he  shouted,  "I  must  go  to  my  people. 
I  have  lingered  too  long.  A  voice  is  calling  me." 

The  heavy  door  drapery  was  lifted;  the  face  of  a  pale, 
fair  woman  appeared  in  the  opening,  and  a  gentle  voice 
exclaimed:  "There,  now,  you  have  been  banging  that  table 
again,  and  the  quills  and  beads  are  scattered  in  every  direc 
tion." 

"Never  mind  the  quills  and  beads,"  the  doctor  replied, 
"there  are  lots  more  where  they  come  from.  Get  yourself 
ready  for  a  long  journey,  Blue  Bird.  We  start  to-morrow." 

"Why,  you  don't  intend  to  scalp  me  and  commit  suicide, 
do  you?"  The  doctor  shook  with  laughter;  the  pet  cat 
stretched  her  great  length  out  upon  the  Navajo  blanket  in 
the  corner  of  the  davenport.  "That's  pretty  good,"  the 
doctor  continued.  "No,  no,  nothing  quite  so  bad  as  that, 
but  we  are  going,  Blue  Bird.  Mind,  lose  no  time,  we  go 
to-morrow.  I  must  get  out  into  the  open.  These  great 
piles  of  books  and  all  this  trumpery  just  simply  stifle  me. 
I  want  a  glimpse  of  that  golden  sunset  land,  and  I  must  see 
my  people.  I  must  talk  with  them.  I  must  help  them  with 
their  burdens.  It  is  all  wrong  for  me  to  sit  here,  dormant, 
acquiescent,  enjoying  the  comforts  and  advantages  of  the 
great  prosperous  city,  letting  the  precious  hours  drift 
away  into  eternity  when  I  should  be  aiding  my  people. 
The  time  is  not  coming.  The  time  for  action  has  arrived.  My 
race  must  arise!  I  say,  my  race  must  come  up  from  jthe 
valley  of  black  shadows  into  the  broad  light  of  day;" 

Again  he  waved  his  arms,  clinched  his  fists,  and  banged 
the  table.  "There  you  go  again,"  cried  Blue  Bird,  "what 

90 


THE  VISION  91 

grudge  have  you  got  against  the  table?  It  will  be  falling 
to  pieces." 

"Get  ready !  Get  ready !  The  tang  of  the  wild  is  in  my 
brain/' 

The  doctor  was  a  full-blooded  Indian;  this  was  quite 
obvious  from  his  dark  skin,  straight  black  hair,  and  type 
of  features.  That  he  was  a  thinker,  and  entertained  a 
great  vision,  was  obvious  likewise  in  the  lofty  bearing  and 
dreamy  expression  of  his  eyes. 

With  wonderment  we  peer  about  the  room  he  has  left. 
It  is  a  den;  a  museum  of  Indian  mementoes;  the  doctor's 
retreat  where  alone  he  dreams  of  the  past  and  writes  long 
expostulations  upon  the  causes  which  have  led  up  to  the 
present  condition  of  the  Indian  race.  Light  that  is  soft- 
toned  and  weird,  radiates  from  beneath  a  dull  colored 
lamp  shade  and  mingles  with  the  dull  red  of  the  leather 
mat  that  covers  the  top  of  a  massive  oak  table  in  the 
center  of  the  room.  From  beneath  the  leather  mat  a  beauti 
ful  Navajo  spread  falls  over  the  table  and  down  close  to 
the  floor,  where  Indian  rugs  lay  in  wait  for  noisy  feet. 
Brown  shadows  fill  the  room,  and  many  sad,  dark  faces 
look  down  from  the  walls,  where  every  inch  of  space  is 
covered  with  Indian  pictures.  Suspended  by  hooks  and 
cords  from  the  ceiling,  many  curious  objects  are  swinging 
overhead.  A  pair  of  gray  and  blue-beaded  moccasins,  made 
by  the  famous  Chief  Geronimo;  wampun  bags  adorned  with 
eagle  feathers  and  scalp  locks;  baby  cradles  heavy  with 
beads;  others  made  of  simple  strips  of  willow;  strange 
decorations  lavishly  adorned  with  tiny  mirrors,  and  eagle 
feathers,  all  arranged  in  one  long  strip  which  was  worn 
about  the  neck  of  noted  chiefs;  worn  by  riders  in  the 
bright  sunlight  they  were  visible  miles  away,  as  the  mirrors 
flashed  back  their  many  reflections,  in  those  vanished  days 
of  pomp  and  glory;  peace  pipes  "from  the  great  red 
pipestone  quarry"  point  their  long,  dull  stems  down  toward 
the  light.  Various  articles  of  pottery  stand  upon  the 


92  02V  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

sideboards,  shelves  and  cabinets;  beautiful  jugs,  bowls,  and 
pitchers  made  by  the  Pimas  and  Mojaves;  baskets  of  finest 
weave  and  most  singular  design  nestle  here  and  there, 
while  bows  and  arrows  swing  dangerously  low  overhead. 
High  on  the  wall  hangs  a  tom-tom  bearing  a  war  scene  upon 
its  pale  leather  head ;  nailed  to  a  door  is  a  bear-skin  with 
the  stern,  strong  face  of  Chief  Red  Cloud  painted  upon  its 
rough  surface.  Over  the  center  of  the  table  hangs  a  beaded 
cradle  from  the  lodge  of  the  chief  whose  eyes  look  at  you 
from  the  bear-skin.  Here  among  the  gray  shadows,  and 
the  dull  red  and  brown  and  gold  tints,  Doctor  Nachita 
dreams  and  ponders  night  and  day  of  his  people — their 
condition  now  and  their  prospects  for  to-morrow.  When 
all  alone  he  may  take  from  its  peg  the  tom-tom,  place  it 
upon  a  low  stool  before  him,  tap  lightly  upon  its  painted 
war  scene  and  listen,  while  from  the  shadows  of  the  past, 
merry  dancers  and  grim  stately  warriors  troop  by.  He 
sees  great,  dark,  flashing  eyes ;  tall  willowy  forms ;  feather- 
bedecked  warriors  mounted  upon  swift  horses  with  gay 
trappings,  rush  past.  He  sees  the  camp-fire  upon  the  mesa 
at  night.  He  sees  a  low  willow  hut,  and  a  mother  with  a 
babe  at  her  breast.  He  hears  voices  chanting  in  low, 
monotonous  -cadences.  Hunters  ride  past  driving  before 
them  a  herd  of  deer.  On  into  a  dark  ravine  they  dash  and 
are  lost  in  the  shadows. 

Once  more  Dr.  Nachita  taps  softly,  gently,  upon  the 
mellow-toned  drum;  and  then  his  eyes  fill  with  tears. 
"All  gone!  All  gone!"  he  murmurs.  "It  is  a  sad,  sad 
story.  My  people!  My  people!"  The  drum  gives  out  a 
deep-toned,  soft,  and  slow  boom!  boom!  The  eyelids  close 
and  the  drum  stick  falls  down  upon  the  Indian  mat.  A 
big  black  and  white  rabbit  comes  across  the  room  and 
nibbles  at  his  feet.  He  springs  up,  thrusts  aside  the 
tom-tom,  strikes  the  table  with  his  clenched  fist,  and  roars, 
"Color  be  hanged!  The  Indians  are  obsessed  by  fear. 
If  the  Indian  only  would  wake  up  and  think  for  himself, 


THE  VISION  93 

and  act  for  himself;  work  and  learn;  but  some  way  he  has 
been  crushed  and  his  spirit  broken  by  years  of  fear  and 
want.  Wake  up !  Wake  up  !  We  are  men  like  other  men." 

Blue  Bird  would  lift  the  brown  blanket  that  curtained 
the  doorway,  look  in  and  call  to  him,  "There  you  go  again; 
you  make  my  head  ache,  hollering  about  the  Indians.  Why 
not  do  something?  And  quit  pounding  the  table." 

Then  Dr.  Nachita  would  look  up  at  the  stern  visage  of 
Sitting  Bull  for  a  short  time  and  go  in  silence  to  the  little 
library  where  the  books  were  piled  tier  upon  tier  close  up 
to  the  ceiling.  By  and  by  he  would  write  upon  a  big  tablet 
with  hurried  movements,  "I  see  the  whole  terrible  tragedy 
passing  before  me.  O  God !  I  would  forget.  I  cover  my 
eyes.  I  try  to  shut  out  the  dark  picture,  but  it  is  always 
there  before  me.  It  haunts  my  dreams.  The  soul  of  my 
mother  calls  to  me  from  the  other  world — 'Child/  it  says, 
'lift  up  your  voice;  lift  up  your  voice  for  your  own;  for 
your  people.'  I  cannot  forget  until  the  morning  dawns." 


CHAPTER  XXI 
HER  TRYST  WITH  DEATH 

The  rain  fell  in  torrents  upon  the  leaky  roof  of  a  hovel 
far  out  in  the  city's  suburbs.  From  the  one  room  a  dim 
light  streamed  out  into  the  darkness.  The  wind  rattled 
the  loose  boards,  sighed,  and  whistled  by  turns.  Within 
this  make-shift  dwelling  the  gloom  was  appalling,  for  the 
Angel  Death  had  entered  and  taken  away  the  weary  spirit 
of  Chiquita.  The  place  was  wretchedly  furnished;  filthy 
and  cold.  Tonto  knelt  beside  the  couch  where  lay  the 
body  of  the  once  beautiful  and  fortune  favored  Spanish 
actress.  His  arms  were  folded  about  the  little  Wawa,  and 
between  broken  sobs  he  whispered,  "Fate  was  cruel !  Fate 
was  cruel!"  He  laid  his  hand  very  gently  upon  the  boy's 
dark  head  and  looked  into  the  eyes  that  were  marvelously 
like  those  of  Chiquita,  when  Tonto  first  beheld  her.  Wawa 
cried,  "Mamma !  Mamma !"  At  that  moment  the  door 
latch  was  lifted  and  into  the  room  stepped  Starlight.  She 
dropped  her  rain  coat  upon  the  bare  floor  and  waited  for 
Tonto  to  speak.  In  that  moment  of  silence,  the  whole 
tragedy  of  the  life  that  had  passed,  loomed  up  before  her. 
She  could  scarce  believe  that  Chiquita  had  closed  her  eyes 
for  the  last  time  in  this  hovel.  The  air  was  stifling.  The 
shadows  and  gloom  sent  a  chill  through  stout-hearted  Star 
light.  Tonto  arose,  with  tears  falling  from  his  eyelids.  He 
tried  to  speak  but  his  lips  were  dumb.  "I  am  here  to  tell 
you,  Tonto,  I  would  gladly  have  nursed  her  had  I  known." 
Starlight's  voice  was  very  low  and  the  sympathy  of  a  great 
heart  vibrated  through  each  word.  "Why  did  you  not 
call  me  ?"  she  questioned.  After  a  long  period  of  silence  he 
replied:  "Starlight,  until  last  night  I  did  not  know  that 
Chiquita  was  more  ill  than  common;  but  the  doctor  came 
and  said,  'The  end  is  very  near/  I  was  bewildered;  I 
just  sat  and  watched  her  breathing  until  it  ceased.  I 

94 


HER  TRYST  WITH  DEATH  95 

thought,  of  course,  this  last  spell  was  like  the  others — just 
morphine  and  whiskey.  She  suffered  in  mind  and  body; 
that  is  why  she  took  the  drug.  Poor  Chiquita,  she  gave  up 
all  the  world  for  me ;  the  sacrifice  was  too  great ;  prej  udice 
followed  her  like  an  evil  spirit  from  the  hour  she  smiled 
upon  me.  I  am  guilty,  Starlight;  I  did  not  understand 
how  much  it  would  cost;  love  is  selfish!  Love  is  selfish, 
Starlight.  I  tried,  but  it  has  been  hard  to  exist;  I  never 
dreamed  that  Chiquita  would  be  ostracized  because  of  my 
color.  Starlight,  I  hate  the  pale  face;  poverty  has  clung 
to  us  and  dogged  our  steps  and  now  I  must  ask  for  aid 
at  the  very  last  hour;  and  Chiquita  had  fortunes  at  her 
command  before  she  loved  me."  "You  will  ask  no  favors 
of  white  man  or  Indian,"  Starlight  replied.  "It  is  my  priv 
ilege  to  assist  you,  but  Tonto,  do  not  breathe  the  word 
hate.  Once  bitterness  and  hate  sank  deep  into  my  soul  and 
caused  me  great  suffering.  Through  the  night  hours  my 
heart  cried  for  revenge,  and  my  lips  cried,  'How  can  I, 
Starlight,  a  frail  Indian  girl,  inflict  cruel,  sharp  pain  upon 
the  object  of  my  hatred?'  I  held  these  terrible  thoughts, 
Tonto,  until  they  nearly  crushed  out  my  life.  At  last  I 
found  a  better,  more  profitable  way;  when  I  could  no 
longer  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  hate  and  revenge ;  when  I 
found  I  must  forget  my  wrongs  or  perish,  ill  in  mind  and  body, 
I  turned  into  a  new  sunlit  trail.  The  light  came  suddenly. 
It  broke  in  upon  my  soul  one  dreary  day,  when  the  clouds 
drifted  from  before  the  sun,  and  my  room  was  flooded 
with  bright  light.  I  ran  into  the  garden  among  the  flowers 
and  birds;  I  lifted  my  eyes  to  the  blue  of  heaven  and  my 
heart  sang,  'How  blind!  How  deaf!  There  is  nothing  in 
this  beautiful  world  worth  having  that  is  not  mine!  I 
have  life — and  strength — and  time — time  in  which  to 
change  all  that  is  wrong  in  myself  and  my  environment.' 
The  beauty  of  the  world  is  mine — and  Tonto,  the  world  is 
beautiful  when  the  eyes  are  not  blinded  by  some  destruc 
tive  element  like  hate.  To  be  emancipated  from  bitter 


96  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

thoughts;  to  vibrate  in  harmony  with  all  life — this,  Tonto, 
is  the  new  birth.  The  fire  I  passed  through  consumed  some 
element  within  me  that  was  holding  me  down  to  earth; 
that  stifled  all  that  was  best  within  me.  It  was  a  selfish 
animal — love — that  I  once  thought  necessary  to  my  exist 
ence,  but  the  love  I  now  hold  necessary  to  my  life  is  never 
destructive.  It  is  the  higher  love;  the  universal  love  that 
forgets,  and  hopes,  and  waits,  and  labors  for  the  general 
welfare  of  the  race."  "O,  I  have  nothing  to  live  for," 
Tonto  moaned.  "You  cannot  die;  there  is  no  real  death; 
Tonto,  all  is  change,  ceaseless  change — nothing  is  lost  when 
once  created.  The  child — is  he  not  worth  living  for?  The 
Indian  race,  are  they  not  worth  struggling  for?  And, 
Tonto,  you  have  much  to  live  and  labor  for;  a  mighty 
responsibility  rests  upon  each  one  of  our  race,  and  those 
who  fortunately  have  received  new  light — some  educa 
tion,  some  mental  development,  must  lead  the  way,  must 
hold  up  the  torch  to  light  the  footsteps  of  those  less  for 
tunate  ones  who  grope  in  darkness."  "Yes,  Starlight,  that 
is  all  good,  but  the  pale  face  rejected  Chiquita;  my  own 
people  spurned  her,  and  it  cut  her  to  the  heart;  it  is  so 
sad,  so  sad;  they  repudiated  Chiquita;  remorse  gnaws  at 
my  heart.  It  was  my  fault.  Why  did  I  accept  so  great  a 
sacrifice?  She  was  adventurous,  impetuous,  thoughtless, 
and  the  ills  all  recoiled  upon  her."  "But,  Tonto,  it  is 
past ;  not  one  step  backward  may  we  take  except  in  thought ; 
we  must  move  onward  with  the  universe.  There  is  great 
work  to  be  accomplished ;  let  us  save  from  the  past  only  its 
lessons.  Chiquita  is  at  rest — poor,  tired  heart.  Purge  your 
soul  from  the  passion  that  helped  to  destroy  the  Chiquita 
you  adored,  and  go  forward  into  the  future,  a  power  for  the 
emancipation  of  our  race.  Tonto,  you  studied  law  once; 
take  that  for  your  profession;  master  it.  The  Indians 
need  strong  defenders.  They  need  powerful  examples  of 
success  to  inspire  them  to  personal  effort."  She  stepped  to 
the  bedside,  lifted  the  tattered  spread  that  covered  the  form 


HER  TRYST  WITH  DEATH  97 

of  Chiquita,  and  laid  upon  the  dead  woman's  breast  a  pure 
white  fragrant  lily.  Then  she  turned  her  beautiful  face 
toward  the  dim  light  and  Tonto  saw  a  glory  shining  from 
the  eyes  of  Starlight — it  was  love  and  peace  and  hope,  and 
by  some  mysterious  influence,  his  soul  was  lifted  up  and 
strengthened,  and  hate  and  bitterness  dwindled  into  noth 
ingness.  He  saw  the  beauty  and  power  of  mental  poise. 
Starlight  was  calm,  and  love  radiated  from  her  being  even 
in  the  presence  of  death,  and  want  and  agony.  Starlight 
went  quietly  about  those  tasks  which  the  occasion  brought 
to  her  hand.  Tonto  took  the  child  and  crept  into  the  dark 
est  corner  where  for  a  long  time  he  sat  in  meditation.  He 
recalled  the  time  when  their  women  made  the  night  hideous 
with  their  lamentations  for  the  dead ;  he  had  seen  both  men 
and  women  slash  their  bodies  with  knives,  and  cut  off  the 
hair  and  even  the  fingers,  in  token  of  grief.  Was  it  not 
best  after  all  to  submit  to  the  inevitable?  Was  it  not  the 
better  way  to  keep  command  of  the  body  ?  Here  was  Star 
light,  gentle,  kind-hearted,  noble  Starlight,  an  Indian  girl, 
going  about  calm  and  dignified  in  the  presence  of  death. 
How  crushed  and  helpless  and  bitter  he  felt  at  the  moment 
of  her  coming.  Now  he  was  beginning  to  see  the  light. 
Poor,  unhappy  Chiquita  had  suffered  much.  After  all, 
was  it  not  best  that  she  should  have  rest?  Why,  long  ago 
she  had  attempted  to  end  it  all,  and  failed ;  but  why  must  it 
all  be  so?  He  became  confused  in  his  reasoning  and  tried 
to  stop  thinking,  but  try  as  hard  as  he  could  to  shake  it  off, 
remorse  fastened  its  fangs  into  his  flesh.  He  knew  that 
he  had  assisted  in  the  downfall  of  Chiquita.  He  was  glad 
when  Starlight  took  the  child  and  went  away  and  left  him 
alone  with  his  dead.  There  beside  the  dead  Chiquita  he 
abandoned  himself  to  remorse.  The  shock  he  had  suffered 
caused  him  to  think — something  he  had  not  done  since  the 
night  when  he  beheld  Chiquita  for  the  first  time.  There 
upon  his  knees  he  vowed  that  he  would  devote  his  time,  and 
strength,  and  talent  to  Wawa,  Chiquita's  child,  and  the 


98  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

Indian  race.  "Dr.  Nachita  is  right;  it  rests  with  the  few 
educated  Indians — the  destiny  of  the  race.  Shall  they 
rescue  themselves  from  the  slavery  of  ignorance,  of  vice, 
of  idleness?  From  this  hour  I  devote  myself  to  their 
cause,  and  time  will  tell."  At  nine  o'clock  on  the  following 
morning  Tonto,  Wawa  and  Starlight  rode  alone  behind  the 
hearse  that  carried  the  remains  of  the  once  beautiful  and 
famous  woman  who  had  given  up  fame  and  luxury  for  the 
man  she  loved,  to  later  learn  that  self-preservation  is  the 
first  law  of  nature — that  when  assailed  by  physical  suffer 
ing,  disappointments,  poverty  and  want,  her  love  could  not 
survive.  That  when  she  changed,  love  flew  away,  and  in 
that  hour  the  consciousness  of  what  she  might  have  been, 
of  what  she  once  really  longed  to  be,  seared  and  tortured 
her  soul.  As  they  turned  from  the  grave,  the  trembling 
lips  of  Tonto  whispered  to  the  child  of  Chiquita:  "How 
cruel — the  injustice  of  the  pale  face.  Dr.  Nachita  is  right! 
We  must  overcome  prejudice;  we  must  master  fate;  we 
must  stand  on  an  equal  footing  with  the  best  of  men.  Look 
ing  back  I  see  that  the  general  good  should  be  our  highest 
aim.  Starlight  has  found  the  better  way.  From  this  hour 
I  give  my  all  to  the  welfare  of  Wawa  and  my  race." 

When  the  carriage  stopped  with  a  jolt  that  awakened 
Tonto  from  his  dreaming,  the  child  had  fallen  asleep  upon 
the  breast  of  Starlight. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  HOME  COMING 

Here  on  the  gray  and  purple  slopes, 

Above  the  silver  streams, 
We  watch  the  crimson  sunset  weave 

Its  colors  through  our  dreams. 

A  solitary  couple  alighted  from  the  Santa  Fe  train  one 
glorious  morning,  in  a  small  mining  town  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains,  in  the  far  West.  The  man  appeared  at  home 
— upon  familiar  ground — for  he  strode  along  through  the 
village  with  careless  step,  and  his  smile  was  that  of  the 
child.  His  massive  head  and  shoulders  resembled  the 
mountain  lion.  His  dusky  skin  and  shock  of  heavy  black 
hair  suggested  the  mineral  of  that  rock-ribbed,  lava-en 
crusted  region.  His  large  face  and  great  black  eyes 
beamed  with  intelligence  and  good  humor.  He  led  the  way, 
followed  closely  by  a  pale-faced  woman  who  blinked  her 
deep-set  blue  eyes  in  the  flood  of  sunlight  that  bathed  the 
earth.  Dr.  Nachita  and  Blue  Bird  had  reached  the  land 
of  their  dreams.  "Come  on !  Come  on !  We  must  take  the 
trail  right  now.  Later  in  the  day  the  heat  is  severe  and  I 
am  impatient;  right  down  there,  beyond  the  blacksmith 
shop,  we  get  the  ponies;  see  that  shed  yonder?"  "It  is 
no  trouble  to  see  in  this  light,"  Blue  Bird  replied.  The 
doctor  continued,  "On  our  way  to  the  plateau  I  will  see 
Chief  Ugly  Bear.  I  must  talk  with  the  old  chief  regarding 
matters  of  great  importance  to  his  tribe."  They  had 
mounted  the  ponies  and  were  riding  across  "the  desert" 
when  the  doctor  forgot  the  Indians  for  a  moment  and  said : 
"Look  there,  Blue  Bird;  that  is  the  barrel  cactus;  it  con 
tains  a  watery  pulp  and  the  Indians  never  suffered  from 
thirst  if  they  could  reach  that  plant.  They  just  cut  into  it 
and  scooped  up  the  moist  pulp  with  their  hands.  Now, 
Blue  Bird,  observe  most  plants  in  this  locality  have  stickers 

99 


100  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

or  spines  to  protect  them  from  the  birds  and  animals ;  won 
derful  provision  where  food  is  scarce.  Look  there,  Blue 
Bird,  that  is  an  ocotillo;  in  the  spring  time  its  tips  bear 
flame-colored  blossoms."  They  approached  a  narrow  val 
ley.  "Look  there,  Blue  Bird;  that  tall  bush  with  the  long 
green  spikes  is  the  paloverde,  and  here  is  the  cat-claw  with 
its  little  curved  thorn  and  fragrant  yellow  blossoms;  re 
member  that,  Blue  Bird,  for  most  blossoms  in  this  region 
are  scentless.  Now,  right  over  there  you  see  yuccas  or 
soap  weed;  in  the  spring  time  they  are  full  of  cream- white 
flowers."  "The  plants  and  the  grass  all  look  very  queer  to 
me,  like  another  world.  And  where  are  the  Indians?" 
Blue  Bird  asked.  "Right  now  I  see  the  old  chief's  lodge 
by  that  clump  of  willow,"  the  doctor  replied.  "Now  you 
stay  here,  Blue  Bird,  and  hunt  flowers  while  I  ride  down 
to  the  river  and  speak  with  the  Chief  Ugly  Bear."  He 
pointed  off  to  the  right  where  a  long,  thin  streak  of  smoke 
ascended  from  the  bank.  He  rode  away  and  Blue  Bird 
was  soon  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  shrubs  and  bright- 
plumaged  birds. 

Ugly  Bear  sat  upon  the  ground  mending  a  weather- 
beaten  harness,  when  Dr.  Nachita  rode  up.  "Well !  Well !" 
and  "Ha  o"  were  the  high  lights  of  their  salutation.  They 
conversed  in  low  guarded  tones;  words  came  slowly  to 
their  lips  and  were  enunciated  with  marked  deliberation. 
"Let's  see,  this  is  Wednesday;  send  out  the  riders,  call 
them  together  here,  right  here,  late  in  the  afternoon  of 
Friday.  Don't  forget  the  mescal  bake.  My!  My!  This 
home  coming  is  a  red  letter  day  in  my  life.  I  go  now; 
to-morrow  I  come  back."  With  these  words  Dr.  Nachita 
left  Chief  Ugly  Bear  who  gazed  after  horse  and  rider  with 
a  look  of  deep  admiration  in  his  jet  black  eyes.  Then  Ugly 
Bear  straightened  his  tall  figure  and  slowly  said :  "He  heap 
good  Indian!  Heap  big  Indian  talk  fine;  come  back  to 
morrow."  When  Dr.  Nachita  and  Blue  Bird  began  to 
climb  the  rocky  trail  that  led  to  the  mesa,  a  tense,  somber 


THE  HOME  COMING  101 

expression  settled  upon  the  doctor's  face.  Blue  Bird  was 
silent;  she  feared  disturbing  him  when  his  eyes  closed  in 
just  that  peculiar  way.  On,  up  toward  the  sky  they 
climbed,  here  and  there  hugging  the  rocky  wall,  just  a  few 
feet  from  an  open  abyss.  They  knew  that  only  the  un 
failing  instinct  of  the  ponies  separated  them  from  eternity; 
to  slip  or  stumble  would  mean  death.  At  one  of  these 
points  the  doctor  said,  "Here,  Blue  Bird,  one  lies  naked 
before  God.  Here  a  man  shrivels  to  the  dimensions  of  a 
partridge.  You  feel  small,  in  fact,  you  know  that  you  are 
small.  The  marts  of  trade  make  a  man  conceited  and 
boastful;  that  is  man's  world — of  his  making.  Here  the 
folks  vegetate  in  God's  world.  Everything  strikes  the  same 
level,  as  it  were;  the  people  live  on  the  same  plane  with 
the  birds  and  squirrels  and  skunks."  Blue  Bird  became 
restless.  "I  call  this  hard  climbing;  nothing  easy  about 
this,"  she  said  in  a  frightened  voice.  "Nothing  of  the  sort ; 
you  make  it  hard  work;  all  in  your  mind,  Blue  Bird.  De 
pend  upon  the  pony.  Whoa,  Bill!  Steady,  there!  Blue 
Bird  objects  to  being  tumbled  off  the  cliff  like  a  common 
boulder ;  let  us  keep  to  the  trail ;  I  have  work  to  accomplish. 
There  now,  I  told  you — no  cause  for  worry."  They  had 
reached  the  top  of  the  plateau.  Overhead  the  deep  blue 
sky  seemed  very  near;  so  close  it  frightened  Blue  Bird. 
The  air  was  marvellously  clean  and  fresh  and  the  stillness 
awed  them.  He  tethered  the  ponies  to  a  rock,  and  Dr. 
Nachita  led  the  way  to  the  far  edge  of  the  mesa,  and  there 
spread  out  before  their  eyes,  far  down  below  lay  a  green 
fertile  valley  dotted  over  with  houses,  flocks  of  sheep,  and 
herds  of  cattle,  orchards  and  vineyards.  On  either  side  of 
the  valley  rose  abruptly,  high  rocky  walls.  Toward  the 
west  the  mass  projected  itself  out  into  the  valley  in  finger- 
like  ridges,  as  though  a  great  hand  had  been  held  out  over 
the  valley,  and  the  spread  fingers  had  turned  to  stone. 
"Down  there,  Blue  Bird,  is  the  spot  where  my  tribe  once  lived 
— in  that  Garden  of  Eden,  but  see  the  long  slender  shadows 


102  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

reaching  out  over  the  valley  from  those  stone  fingers ! 
Ah,  the  shadows  fell  upon  my  race — upon  my  own  family; 
I  recall  vaguely  that  black  night.  All  were  gathered  about 
the  camp  fire  close  to  the  grass  hut;  a  hostile  band  crept 
upon  us;  then  it  was  all  dark  and  confusion  reigned,  and  I 
realized  that  I  was  being  carried  away,  and  through  my 
child  brain  ran  the  stories  I  had  been  told  of  the  power 
the  enemy  possessed  to  change  little  boys  into  dogs,  cats, 
or  toads.  My !  My !  Blue  Bird,  fear  is  terrible.  It  is  a 
crime  to  teach  fear.  Well !  Well !  That  is  past  long  ago. 
Right  there,  Blue  Bird,  where  I  am  pointing,  I  picked  up 
the  hand-mill  we  have  in  the  'den,'  the  two  flat  stones  for 
grinding  grass  seeds  and  grains."  "How  did  they  treat  their 
women?"  Blue  Bird  asked.  "The  woman  was  the  whole 
thing,"  promptly  replied  the  doctor.  "Well,  I  hear  about 
her  driving  and  hitching  the  horses — "  "O,  yes,"  he  in 
terrupted,  "she  harnessed  the  horse  because  the  horse  be 
longed  to  her.  The  Indian  sat  in  the  rear  of  the  wagon, 
because  that  was  where  he  belonged.  The  Indian  was  all 
bedecked  and  bespangled,  Blue  Bird,  because  the  woman 
who  loved  him  thus  adored  him;  because  it  pleased  her 
own  fancy.  She  selected  and  chose,  and  honored  and 
adored  her  mate,  but  her  choice  once  made,  she  belonged 
absolutely  to  that  mate.  Our  young  men  were  timid;  I 
could  never  in  my  boyhood  days  speak  to  a  woman.  To 
enter  a  ballroom  or  reception  hall.  My !  I  could  never 
endure  the  ordeal.  They  would  stare  at  me — someone 
might  be  ashamed  of  me.  A  strange  sensitiveness  kept  me 
in  fear  of  the  white  man's  curiosity — the  smile  of  disdain. 
I  was  an  Indian — to  be  stared  at,  considered  queer,  that  is 
terrible,  but  we  must  endure.  I  found  wonderful  friends. 
I  could  meet  them  in  my  own  den,  away  from  prying  eyes ; 
but  let  us  keep  to  the  present.  My  soul  drinks  in  the  beauty 
and  grandeur  of  the  scene  before  me,  and  I  thank  God  for 
all  that  is  good  and  beautiful;  and  yet  I  cannot  forget  the 
poor  remnant  of  my  race.  Their  faces  are  sad;  they  walk 


THE  HOME  COMING  103 

about  in  fear.  They  cannot  even  manage  their  own  home 
affairs ;  they  must  get  permission  to  exist.  I  will  not  keep 
still!  I  will  be  heard!  I  have  a  right  to  demand  justice 
and  I  have  a  right  to  call  out  to  my  people  to  arouse  them 
selves  and  claim  the  best  that  this  life  offers,  instead  of 
waiting  and  drifting,  and  all  the  time  slipping  off  the  earth. 
Blue  Bird,  man  must  have  an  atmosphere,  and  reason." 
"Would  you  care  to  live  here  always,  in  sight  of  the  things 
that  remind  you  of  the  past?"  Blue  Bird  asked  naively. 
"No!  No!"  he  replied,  "this  is  wild  and  grand  and  pic 
turesque,  and  I  love  to  come  back.  I  just  must  come  back 
for  short  periods,  but  when  a  man  has  once  known  the 
comforts  of  a  well-ordered  home,  he  could  never  again 
endure  life  in  a  grass  hut,  and  then,  Blue  Bird,  to  be  able 
to  reach  up  as  I  do,  and  take  from  a  convenient  shelf  a 
bound  volume,  open  its  covers  and  come  into  close  touch 
with  the  soul  of  a  Hugo,  a  Shakespeare,  an  Emerson.  My ! 
My!  Blue  Bird,  no  man  could  give  up  such  opportunities 
for  this  life  of  simple  rustic  stagnation.  Think  of  not  be 
ing  able  to  read  and  write — just  make  your  mark!  No! 
No !  Here  everything  is  in  the  crude ;  no  evolution ;  no 
progress.  The  whole  environment  of  the  reservation  Indian 
favors  stagnation,  decay,  death.  They  just  drift  on,  close 
to  earth  like  birds  with  clipped  wings.  They  have  all  the 
inate  material  possessed  by  any  race,  but  they  have  been 
hypnotized  into  a  state  of  inertia.  They  have  had  some 
one  to  think  for  them,  these  many  years,  and  they  have  been 
going  backward.  They  are  sick  people,  Blue  Bird,  but  they 
will  recover.  They  wronged  themselves  when  first  they 
took  into  their  souls  hate  and  bitterness.  The  Indians 
were  wronged  many  times ;  many  times ;  but  hate  and  bitter 
ness  destroy  the  soul;  the  price  is  too  great.  My  heart 
rebels  against  the  present  status  of  the  Indians.  I  am  tor 
tured  by  their  sorrows.  Each  day  their  misery  prods 
deeper  into  my  soul." 


104  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

High  above  the  gold  and  green  valley  he  stood  erect. 
Toward  the  clouds  he  lifted  his  hands  and  cried,  "My  God ! 
Help  me  to  rescue  my  people !  I  am  dumb !  I  am  help 
less!"  "Why  not  let  them  remain  as  they  are?"  Blue  Bird 
whispered.  "This  excitement  is  not  good;  let  us  go  down 
where  you  cannot  see  so  much  that  hurts  you ;  I  came  to  see 
birds,  and  flowers  and  baskets,  and  eat  mescal.  I  thought 
you  would  give  up  raving  about  Indians  when  you  were 
away  from  the  books,  and  could  talk  with  them,  but  you 
have  put  on  the  loud  pedal  since  we  arrived;  come  along; 
I  am  going."  She  mounted  her  pony  and  started  down. 
He  feared  she  might  lose  her  way  alone  on  the  crooked 
trail.  He  mounted,  cast  a  long  lingering  glance  over  the 
beautiful  valley;  at  the  walls  of  rock  and  the  shadows  that 
lengthened  while  he  lingered;  then  turned  away  with  eyes 
wet  with  tears,  to  follow  Blue  Bird  down  the  winding  trail. 
Once,  upon  a  level  stretch  of  path,  he  paused  and  repeated 
the  song  of  Elsie  Jewell,  the  daughter  of  his  friend  Rev. 
Silas  Sheldon: 

"O  Arizona,  land  of  mine: 

Thou  holdest  charms  of  every  clime; 

From  deserts  wild  to  heights  sublime; 

0  Arizona,  land  of  mine. 
"I'll  ne'er  forget  thy  deserts  wild, 

For  here  I  lived  as  nature's  child." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  TOCSIN 

Chief  Ugly  Bear's  runners  had  called  the  people  to  his 
lodge.  Some  had  traveled  many  miles  to  hear  the  message 
of  Dr.  Nachita,  a  full-blooded  Indian  who  had  grown  up 
with  the  pale  face :  an  Indian  who  held  a  university  degree 
and  a  medical  degree.  Chief  Ugly  Bear  lived  in  an  iso 
lated  spot  upon  the  bank  of  a  river  that  poured  out  from 
a  narrow  canyon  near  by.  About  his  lodge  several  families 
had  camped.  Clumps  of  tall  brush  and  broad  willows 
clung  to  the  river  bank,  and  the  ground  was  covered  by  a 
rank  growth  of  coarse  grass.  Toward  the  east  stretched 
low  sand  dunes,  dotted  with  sage  brush  and  cacti.  An 
audience  tent  had  been  erected  near  the  lodge  of  the  chief. 
Long,  straight  poles  had  been  set  in  the  ground  and  roofed 
over  with  brush  and  grass.  The  Indians  came  on  foot; 
in  wagons,  or  riding  ponies.  Beneath  the  rude  tent  they 
sat  down  upon  the  bare  ground  in  semi-circles ;  outside  they 
sat  close  to,  or  beneath  their  wagons  and  beside  the  bushes 
that  they  might  escape  the  direct  rays  of  the  hot  sun.  Blue 
Bird  was  beside  the  wife  of  Chief  Ugly  Bear.  There  was 
not  much  conversation,  and  that  little  was  in  cautious,  low 
tones,  suggesting  fear  or,  perhaps  impending  danger.  A 
rude  table  was  placed  at  one  end  of  the  tent;  Chief  Ugly 
Bear  sat  behind  the  table  with  half  a  dozen  full-bloods,  all 
dignified,  intelligent,  proud  men  past  middle  life,  all  coun 
selors  of  the  tribe.  When  Dr.  Nachita  stepped  out  in  front 
of  the  table,  a  few  Indians  seated  far  out,  stood  up  that 
they  might  better  see  the  man  who  would  speak  to  them 
through  an  interpreter.  A  grave  stillness  settled  upon  the 
people  huddled  about  him.  When  Dr.  Nachita  looked  into 
their  faces  and  struggled  with  his  pent-up  emotions.  He 
stood  thus,  looking  straight  into  their  dark  eyes,  and  then 
away  into  the  blue  sky  for  a  long  time.  Then  slowly  the 

105 


106  02V  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

words  came  from  his  lips  in  short  explosive  sentences :  "My 
people!  Hear  me!  Think  well!  I  have  much  to  say.  I 
come  far  to  counsel  with  you.  Day  and  night  I  ponder 
over  the  question,  the  future — what  does  it  hold  for  my 
race?"  He  paused,  while  a  tall,  dark  Indian  beside  him 
interpreted.  They  nodded  in  assent,  and  the  doctor  con 
tinued:  "When  I  came  last  time  I  asked  permission  from 
the  superintendent  to  speak  to  you;  this  was  denied  me. 
To-day  I  am  speaking  without  permission,  because  I  believe 
that  the  Creator  gave  me  the  right  to  uphold  truth  and 
justice;  to  lift  my  voice  in  the  interest  of  those  who  need 
help.  You  may  not  agree  with  me  on  all  matters,  but  re 
member  my  heart  is  with  my  race.  I  believe  that  I  grasp 
the  viewpoint  of  both  the  white  man  and  the  Indian.  Now ! 
The  point  is  this:  Are  you  content  with  the  present  con 
ditions  of  reservation  life?  Is  the  Government  satisfied 
with  the  progress  you  are  making?"  The  faces  turned 
toward  Dr.  Nachita  were  stern  and  sad.  There  were  mut- 
terings  and  grunts,  and  then  death-like  stillness  as  he  con 
tinued:  "They  have  trained  the  Indian  under  the  reserva 
tion  system  for  a  long,  long  time,  understand,  but  no  one 
seems  pleased  with  the  results.  They  find  fault  continually 
with  the  Indian,  never  with  the  system.  Why,  a  cat,  or  dog, 
or  bird  can  be  trained  if  the  method  is  correct.  In  getting 
results  all  depends  upon  having  the  right  method,  under 
stand?  Well!  Now!  What  does  all  this  mean?  Simply 
that  the  reservation  system  is  all  wrong.  To  reserve  means 
to  set  aside,  to  place  by  itself,  to  segregate,  and  so,  under 
stand,  the  Indian  living  on  the  reservation,  reserves  the  old 
thoughts,  the  old  traditions,  the  old  hatred,  the  old  suspi 
cion  and  all  the  old  things  that  the  pale  face  wants  him  to 
get  rid  of,  understand?"  Here  the  interpreter  had  some 
difficulty,  after  which  Dr.  Nachita  continued,  "All  individ 
uals,  all  races  advance  along  the  same  lines.  All  develop 
ment,  all  betterment  must  come  through  better  thinking; 
through  a  better  understanding  of  natural  laws  that  gov- 


THE  TOCSIN  107 

ern  all  life.  Our  race  must  advance  along  the  same  trail 
the  pale  face  has  traveled.  All  things  develop  from  within. 
Nature  makes  no  distinction,  understand ;  the  same  .laws 
apply  to  all  races  regardless  of  color  or  location.  We  do 
not  remain  stationary ;  we  go  forward  or  backward.  This  is 
the  law;  all  life  is  motion;  we  must  choose  which  way  we 
will  go.  Right  here  my  heart  cries  out  to  you — forget  the 
past !  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  once  was ;  nor  a  question 
of  what  might  have  been;  it  is  what  may  be  done  at  the 
present  time  to  improve  conditions.  While  my  race  have 
remained  silent,  impassive,  immovable,  nursing  hate  and 
revenge,  the  great  world  has  swept  on,  and  on.  Forget 
every  wrong  associated  with  the  past — understand,  we 
must  forget.  This  is  one  of  the  great  lessons  learned  by* 
the  pale  face."  For  several  minutes  the  interpreter  strug 
gled  with  both  languages,  and  thanked  his  stars  that  he 
had  not  forgotten  the  native  tongue.  At  last  Dr.  Nachita 
resumed  his  address  with  great  vehemence:  "Environment  is 
not  fixed  and  unchangeable.  A  man's  environment  may  be 
changed;  there  is  no  law  against  this,  understand;  and 
when  environment  hinders  normal,  healthy  development,  it 
is  time  for  a  change.  The  reservation  system  has  been 
operating  for  more  than  fifty  years.  Who  is  satisfied  with 
results?  The  Indian?  No!  The  Government?  No! 
Surely  something  is  wrong !  The  root  of  the  trouble  lies  in 
segregation.  The  fact  that  I  must  speak  to  you  through  an 
interpreter,  at  the  end  of  fifty  years  of  reservation  life,  is 
proof  that  little  progress  is  being  made  toward  real  Amer 
ican  citizenship.  Something  is  wrong  with  the  system,  or 
my  people  would  speak  and  understand  English."  The 
keen,  alert  old  Indians  shook  their  heads  and  looked  in 
the  direction  of  the  trail ;  fear  looked  out  from  their  faces. 
Dr.  Nachita  continued  in  lowered  tones:  "This  fear  I  see 
in  your  faces  confirms  the  fact  that  you  do  not  consider 
yourselves  free  people.  I  stand  here  a  living  demonstra 
tion  of  the  fact  that  the  Indian  can  be  educated  if  the 


108  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

method  is  correct,  understand.  In  the  hospitals  we  see  the 
rigid  application  of  the  system,  regardless  of  results.  The 
discipline  must  be  maintained,  if  the  patients  all  die.  The 
rules  are  eternal,  unchangeable.  The  pneumonia  patient 
on  being  admitted  must  have  a  bath;  of  course  no  well- 
trained  nurse  could  take  charge  of  an  unbathed  patient. 
The  poor  victim  is  exposed,  scrubbed,  rubbed,  and  dies  be 
cause  too  weak  to  stand  it.  Work — and  more  work  is  the 
panacea  for  the  troubled  heart,  the  idle  brain,  the  empty 
purse,  change  the  atmosphere  of  the  home,  make  it  fit  for 
the  presence  of  deities.  Home  is  the  foundation  of  all 
citizenship,  good  or  bad.  That  child  or  adult  who  does  not 
have  daily  association  with  the  best  people,  the  best  books, 
the  best  amusements;  who  does  not  have  the  best  food  for 
the  nutrition  of  the  body,  the  best  thoughts  for  the  nutri 
tion  of  the  mind — that  child  or  adult  is  badly  handicapped 
in  the  race  for  knowledge,  success,  honor  and  life !  Forget 
all  else  and  bear  this  well  in  mind.  Go  out  and  teach  the 
pale  face  that  the  Indian  of  history  is  a  phantom.  Teach 
the  world  that  you  are  like  all  men.  That  you  are  capable, 
sensitive,  alert,  loyal,  honest,  thinking  human  beings,  ready 
to  accept  all  that  is  useful  in  the  building  of  noble  bodies 
and  noble  characters.  My  heart  aches  and  my  nights  are 
sleepless.  I  must  fight  back  my  tears  when  I  behold  the 
white  man's  picture  of  my  people.  I  beg  you  to  shake  off 
your  fear  and  lethargy,  your  hate  and  resentfulness  and 
accept  your  own.  All  the  noble  qualities  are  yours.  Do 
not  hide  them;  do  not  smother  them  by  superstition  and 
ignorance;  free  the  mind.  Demand  for  your  children  the 
highest  and  best;  go  out  and  obtain  these  gifts  by  hard, 
patient  labor  and  concentration.  Nothing  comes  of  sitting 
still.  Awake !  And  mount  upward  to  the  high  places  where 
the  air  is  pure  and  the  sun  shines  all  day  above  the  clouds. 
"A  change  is  coming,  but  old  systems  die  hard,  remem 
ber;  this  was  the  case  when  our  race  was  compelled  to  give 
up  the  old  life.  Find  yourselves  as  I  found  myself,  through 


THE  TOCSIN  109 

education  and  association  with  thinking  men  and  women. 
The  greatest  service  that  it  is  possible  to  render  to  child 
or  man  is  to  teach  them  to  think.  I  beg  you  to  think  out 
your  own  problems,  and  when  you  do  this  you  will  recognize 
the  value  and  importance  of  education.  Why,  my  dear 
friends,  the  companionship  and  inspiration  of  one  single 
good  book  is  worth  twenty  years  of  lazy,  aimless  life  as  a 
ward  of  the  government.  Of  course,  understand,  the  gov 
ernment  never  aimed  to  bring  about  this  result,  but  the 
system  works  out  in  this  way.  My  race  possess  all  the  ma 
terial,  all  the  possibilities  possessed  by  any  race.  There 
is  no  dream  of  fame,  or  wealth  or  power,  that  has  come 
true  in  the  lives  of  any  individual  or  race,  that  is  not  pos 
sible  for  you,  but  not  in  your  present  environment.  Come 
out  into  the  world  away  from  these  pest  houses,  and  be  the 
noble,  useful  men  and  women  that  I  know  you  can  be.  Some 
will  fall  by  the  wayside,  but  that  is  true  of  all  races.  The 
weak  perish.  You  will  be  compelled  to  work  or  starve, 
understand ;  but  this  is  true  even  of  the  wild  animals.  Work 
is  noble ;  labor  is  the  only  road  to  success.  I  ask  each  man, 
each  woman  of  Indian  blood  to  refuse  charity!  Refuse 
charity!  It  weakens  the  whole  character.  Work  for  the 
education  that  you  see  the  pale  face  using  as  a  lever  to 
success.  Work  for  the  development  of  noble  character  and 
physical  perfection.  Be  a  factor  in  the  onward  movement 
of  the  world.  But  this  is  impossible  for  segregated  Indians. 
There  is  no  inspiration  toward  effort  of  any  sort.  You  are 
supervised;  someone  does  the  thinking  for  you,  and  you 
all  go  in  the  direction  of  least  resistance,  understand  ?  Now, 
this  attitude  was  not  possible  for  me.  Why?  Because  the 
environment  was  not  favorable  to  such  results.  I  did  as 
the  majority  did.  I  went  with  the  tide,  and  now  I  know 
that  all  the  Indian  requires  is  the  proper  tide.  I  would 
have  you  demand  a  final  settlement  with  the  United 
States  Government  regarding  land  and  money,  and  then  I 
would  have  you  go  out,  and  take  up  your  individual  bur- 


110  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

dens  as  all  men  and  women  of  every  race  must  do,  if  they 
would  survive.  Preparing  the  Indian  for  citizenship  ?  Bosh ! 
Nonsense!  The  Indian  must  prepare  himself  for  citizen 
ship,  which  means  simply  to  understand  his  obligations  and 
relations  to  others.  The  reservation  does  not  favor  the  qual 
ities  necessary  to  citizenship.  Reservation  life  fosters  depend 
ence — idleness,  deceit,  ignorance,  depravity,  illness,  idiocy. 
Those  who  escape  these  conditions  are  the  strong  charac 
ters.  Now,  understand!  Because  of  these  conditions  the 
tendency  is  backward—  always  backward.  We  cannot  re 
main  motionless.  All  life  necessitates  some  form  of  mo 
tion.  Stagnation  is  death.  The  apathy  that  has  crept  upon 
my  people  wrings  my  heart.  I  beseech  you,  do  not  accept 
the  idle,  vapid,  carefree  existence  of  wardship.  To  the 
Indian  the  world  belongs  as  much  as  to  the  white  man, 
and  every  Indian  should  take  up  his  share  of  responsibility ; 
but  that  cannot  be  so  long  as  the  Indians  are  supervised. 
My  friends,  fear  nothing;  come  out  into  the  world  and 
demonstrate  the  bravery  of  our  race  by  struggling  for  all 
that  is  best  and  noblest.  The  Indians  should  have  the  best 
that  life  affords.  Why  not?  At  the  same  time  I  beg  you 
— reject  the  vices  of  the  pale  face;  spurn  everything  that 
weakens.  Hate  sears  and  blackens  like  fire.  I  know  that 
the  Indians  as  a  mass — understand,  are  ready  to  recognize 
the  restraints  of  civilization;  those  who  are  not,  must 
suffer  the  lash  of  the  law  just  as  the  pale  face.  The  whole 
reservation  system  has  a  tendency  to  breed  deception,  in 
justice,  weakness,  ignorance  and  disease.  The  Indian  chil 
dren  should  attend  the  public  schools.  That  is  the  place  to 
learn  citizenship.  Every  Indian,  young  or  old,  should  speak 
and  write  the  English  language  because  it  is  the  official 
language  of  this  great  commonwealth.  Any  individual  who 
cannot  speak  the  language  of  the  country  in  which  he  lives 
is  sadly  handicapped.  The  whole  system  is  wrong.  Fifty 
years  of  wardship  and  still  many  Indians  cannot  speak 
English!  Still  making  their  mark!  Think  of  it!  Is  it 


THE  TOCSIN  111 

not  time  for  a  radical  change?  The  principle  of  reserva 
tion  life  is  wrong.  'To  coerce;  to  limit;  to  coddle;  to  de 
ceive;  to  help  feed  and  clothe  never  will  produce  real 
manhood  and  womanhood/  The  system  was  planned  for 
the  protection  of  the  Indians,  but  results  are  not  satis 
factory;  the  system  should  be  abolished.  The  colored 
children  are  in  the  public  schools — why  not  the  Indian  chil 
dren?  When  given  the  proper  environment  I  believe  that 
my  race  will  advance  more  rapidly  than  have  other  races, 
but  if  for  want  of  supervision  my  people  will  lay  down 
and  die— as  some  dear  people  think — then  let  my  people 
die.  I  know  the  white  man's  life  and  I  know  reservation 
life,  and  I  say  in  the  name  of  reason,  and  justice,  come 
away  from  these  unsightly  places !  Come  out  into  full 
daylight !  I  must  speak ;  I  must  cry  out !  I  owe  a  debt  to 
my  people ;  I  will  not  go  my  way  and  abandon  my  race ;  if 
need  be,  I  will  die  for  the  cause.  I  am  weary  of  the  slurs 
cast  upon  my  people — I,  who  know  their  possibilities !  The 
history  of  the  American  Indian  is  a  sad,  sad  story,  a  ter 
rible  tragedy,  a  misunderstanding  that  results  in  injustice, 
bitterness,  hate,  despair  and  death."  The  doctor  recognized 
a  slight  commotion  outside  the  tent  toward  the  east.  Sev 
eral  Indians  stood  up  and  peered  into  the  darkness,  for 
night  had  descended.  Those  who  looked  out  along  the 
trail  did  not  see  but  heard  the  approach  of  horses.  Dr. 
Nachita  had  ceased  to  speak;  he  felt  the  alarm  of  those 
about  him,  and  stood  motionless.  The  Indians  drew  close 
and  signaled  for  him  to  escape,  but  he  stood  quietly  look 
ing  into  their  eyes,  when  the  circle  parted  and  two  tall 
lank  India  a  policemen  shambled  up  to  him.  One  held  a 
scrap  of  dirty  paper  which  he  flourished  in  the  doctor's 
face.  The  other  grasped  him  by  the  arm  and  growled: 
"Come  along;  you  go  to  jail.  Agent  say  lock  him  up;  he 
no  have  permit;  he  no  ask  me  to  speak;  agent  run  this 
place."  "Very  well,  I  will  go,"  the  doctor  answered.  "The 
agent  has  the  authority  and  power  to  imprison  me;  an 
Indian  cannot  speak  his  mind  or  defend  himself.  Think 


112  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

of  it!  And  this  is  our  native  land!"  The  two  policemen 
hustled  him  out  upon  the  trail  and  they  rode  away  into  the 
black  night.  For  a  little  time  no  one  stirred  among  the 
group  of  Indians  left  behind;  then  an  old  blind  man  said: 
"Ugh!  Big  doctor  too  much  white  man;  talk  heap  lot. 
Agent  good;  agent  give  me  tobac — agent  all  right."  A 
group  of  young  Indians  surged  out  along  the  road  with  a 
sudden  impulse  to  rescue  Dr.  Nachita,  when  suddenly  the 
reservation  agent  dashed  into  their  midst  with  half  a  dozen 
Indian  policemen  at  his  heels.  Dismounting,  he  shouted: 
"You  Indians,  clear  out  for  your  homes,  and  be  quick  about 
it!  Every  Indian  found  hanging  around  here  will  be 
locked  up ;  I'll  stand  no  nonsense !  Clear  out,  I  tell  you !" 
They  scattered  like  ants.  An  old  squaw  stumbled  over  an 
object  lying  at  her  feet;  she  bent  down  and  found  Blue 
Bird  upon  the  ground,  her  face  half  buried  in  the  sand. 
"Come  along!  He  lock  you  up  too,"  she  muttered,  as  she 
shook  the  limp  form.  Other  Indians  came  and  raised  the 
prostrate  woman ;  they  questioned,  and  begged  her  to  arouse 
herself,  but  no  sound  came  from  her  lips.  "Carry  that 
woman  into  the  lodge  of  Ugly  Bear,"  the  agent  com 
manded.  They  lifted  the  body  instantly  the  command  was 
given.  They  carried  Blue  Bird  into  the  grass  hut,  and 
very  gently  laid  her  down  upon  the  bare  ground.  The 
agency  physician  was  summoned  and  fear  settled  upon  each 
dusky  face,  for  Blue  Bird  was  dead.  Dazed  and  helpless, 
they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  waited  in  silence.  It 
was  very  dark  and  still  within  and  without.  A  few  mo 
ments  of  terrible  suspense  and  then  a  shot  rang  out.  A 
bullet  whizzed  through  the  still  air,  and  there  before  the 
lodge  of  Chief  Ugly  Bear,  upon  the  ground  lay  the  agent 
writhing  and  clutching  with  both  hands  his  side,  where  a 
bullet  had  entered.  Two  policemen  bore  him  quickly  away, 
and  to  a  trusty  runner  Chief  Ugly  Bear  whispered,  "Go, 
get  word  to  Starlight  and  Tonto !  Dr.  Nachita  say  they 
good  friends.  Go!"  And  the  Redman  vanished  into  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  ALARM 

To  Starlight  the  message  came:  "Dr.  Nachita  in  jail; 
Blue  Bird  dead;  agent  wounded;  speak  for  us."  For  the 
moment  Starlight  was  deprived  of  speech  and  motion,  but 
when  the  shock  had  passed  and  she  grasped  the  meaning  of 
its  few  words  she  crumpled  the  message  in  her  hand  and 
ran  to  the  big  theater  where  at  that  very  hour  Tonto  sang. 
As  she  sped  along  the  street  she  heard  newsboys  crying, 
"Extra!  Extra!  All  about  the  Indian  uprising!"  Past 
them  she  ran  with  her  black  hair  flying  about  her  shoulders. 
From  a  street  corner  a  man  shouted,  "There  goes  one  of 
them  pesky  Indians !"  But  Starlight  rushed  on  like  the 
wind.  When  she  reached  his  side  Tonto  was  about  to 
step  out  before  the  footlights.  "Tonto!  Tonto!"  she 
cried  and  grasped  him  by  the  arm.  "Tell  them  the  truth 
about  the  Indians!  Speak  for  Dr.  Nachita!  I  fear  for 
him!"  With  affright  Tonto  looked  into  Starlight's  wild 
eyes.  Starlight  so  calm  and  self-possessed — Starlight  cry 
ing  out  in  this  manner?  What  could  it  mean?  He  took 
from  her  hand  the  message.  He  could  not  believe  his  eyes ; 
something  seemed  wrong  with  his  brain.  Dazed  and  trem 
bling  he  hurried  out  upon  the  stage  and  spoke  to  the  audi 
ence.  "Wait  a  little,  friends;  I  cannot  sing;  something  has 
happened  in  the  WTest;  my  friend,  the  Indian  Doctor  Na 
chita  is  in  jail,  this  message  tells  me.  One  is  dead  and 
one  is  wounded.  I  do  not  understand;  there  must  be  some 
blunder,  some  mistake.  I  do  not  know  what  this  means, 
but  Dr.  Nachita  has  done  no  wrong.  I  know  that  he  has 
wronged  no  one.  He  is  bold  for  the  truth  about  the  Indian. 
He  has  planned  no  wrong.  He  has  just  one  thought  and 
that  is  the  welfare  of  our  race — the  Indian  people.  He 
loves  even  dumb  animals.  The  Indians  could  not  rise  up 
and  claim  their  freedom;  they  are  too  much  weakened.  I 

113 


114  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

fear  harm  will  come  to  Dr.  Nachita."  An  intoxicated  man 
bellowed  from  the  balcony:  "We  know  all  about  the 
Indians!  Send  the  militia  after  them  and  finish  the  job!" 
A  great  uproar  started ;  angry  voices  were  heard  from  every 
direction,  when  a  tall  man  with  silver  gray  locks  came  upon 
the  stage,  lifted  his  hands  and  called:  "Attention,  fellow 
citizens !  The  Indian  is  a  man !  The  Indian  is  a  human 
being!  The  Indian  is  my  brother!"  He  clasped  the  hand 
of  Tonto  and  continued:  "I  am  here  to  protect  his  rights. 
No  harm  will  befall  Dr.  Nachita.  I  will  throw  the  entire 
weight  of  my  influence  against  it,  for  I  know  this  man, 
Dr.  Nachita.  I  have  had  the  privilege  of  witnessing  the 
kindness,  the  nobility  and  the  fine  sense  of  justice  possessed 
by  Dr.  Nachita,  and  I  am  ready  to  defend  his  name  and 
his  race."  He  led  Starlight  before  the  footlights,  but 
nothing  could  be  heard,  for  a  great  roar  of  applause  swept 
back  and  forth  across  the  big  theater.  Toward  the  audience 
Starlight  and  Tonto  lifted  their  faces,  wet  with  tears,  and 
began  to  sing,  "America."  Every  voice  in  the  great  audi 
torium  mingled  with  the  voices  of  the  Indians.  From  the 
balcony  the  intoxicated  man  shouted,  "Wire  Washington! 
Turn  loose  the  doctor,"  and  later,  it  was  done,  in  Judge 
Thoroughgood's  smooth,  technical,  courteous  way.  Upon 
the  following  day  as  Tonto  and  Starlight  were  about  to  go 
to  Dr.  Nachita's  aid,  a  message  came  telling  them  that  he 
was  free  and  would  return  to  the  city ;  "Wait  there"  was  his 
command. 

The  body  of  Blue  Bird  was  laid  to  rest  amidst  the  scenes 
of  his  tragic  childhood.  "I  shall  come  back,"  he  said. 
"My  heart  is  here;  but  at  the  present  time  I  must  grve  my 
time,  my  strength,  my  all  toward  the  uprooting  of  prejudice 
against  the  Indian.  It  is  all  a  sad  misunderstanding.  I 
love  the  Indian  and  I  love  the  pale  face.  Why  can  we 
not  both  be  men  and  citizens  on  common  ground  ?  Why  can 
we  not  understand  each  other?  There  is  room  for  all!  I 
must  not  grow  bitter — this  awful  tragedy  I  must  forget !  I 


THE  ALARM  115 

must  forget !  I  must  struggle  on  for  the  universal  good  of 
my  people,  and  not  even  ask  to  see  the  way  one  hour  beyond 
the  present ;  it  is  a  sad,  sad  story — the  Indian  story."  And 
then  he  fell  to  dreaming,  with  closed  eyes,  in  silence,  while 
the  train  sped  on  and  on  toward  the  great  metropolis — his 
home. 

The  agency  superintendent  recovered  and  made  a  hasty 
exit  from  the  reservation.  His  old  bravado  was  gone,  and 
in  its  place  he  held  a  sneaking  fear  of  the  Indian  when 
aroused,  or  compelled  to  defend  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"TiiE  DAWN" 

Before  an  elegant  desk,  in  a  well-furnished  office  on 
one  of  the  busiest  streets  of  the  city,  we  find  Starlight.  Her 
manner  has  lost  the  old  imperialism  that  marked  her  col 
lege  days.  She  is  more  beautiful;  less  haughty  and  scorn 
ful  toward  the  pale  face.  The  loss  of  bitterness,  and  the 
unfolding  of  a  new  love  has  wrought  a  magic  change,  and 
those  who  now  meet  Starlight  say,  "She  is  a  perfect  queen ; 
an  all  around  educated,  cultured,  talented  young  woman  of 
great  promise;  if  only  the  women  of  her  race  will  follow 
her  lead,  their  transition  is  accomplished."  On  the  plate 
glass  window  of  Starlight's  office  the  passer-by  might  read, 
"  'The  Dawn,'  a  Journal  devoted  to  the  American  Indian." 
Upon  a  table  close  to  the  window  were  piled  copies  of  the 
journal  whose  forward  proclamation  ran  thus:  "Starlight 
descended  from  the  bravest  of  our  brave  men.  'The  Dawn' 
represents  the  great  interests  of  our  race.  Patriotism, 
sociology,  science,  economics,  and  art  for  the  Indian  is  our 
slogan.  Starlight  is  the  first  Indian  woman  to  step  into 
the  limelight  of  journalism.  Indians,  lend  your  aid;  send 
in  your  best  thoughts,  if  they  concern  the  progress  of  the 
Red  Man.  Help  to  break  down  prejudice,  and  proclaim 
our  principles;  our  ideals;  and  our  worth.  All  who  have 
been  sad  and  silent,  turn  your  faces  toward  'The  Dawn' 
and  lift  up  your  voices.  Starlight  has  struggled  through 
the  long,  dark  night.  She  lights  our  way  toward  the 
dawn."  Down  the  street  with  a  companion  came  Mat 
Bulldowney.  He  stopped  before  the  window  and  read  the 
new  sign.  To  his  friend  he  said:  "Be  gorry!  an'  what  in 
the  name  of  hiven  means  this?  What's  goin'  on  wid  the 
Indians?  Wakin'  up,  maybe;  givin'  up  blankets  an'  beads 
an'  baskets  an'  goin'  to  printin'  papers,  eh?  Edicatin'  they 
do  be  after  sayin'  that's  goin'  some.  I  thot  the  Indin 

116 


THE  DAWN  117 

men  kept  their  wimmin  in  their  proper  spere.  Wil,  I'm 
one  what's  glad  one  of  their  wimmin  has  broke  loose.  Shure 
I'll  take  her  magazine;  that  tepee  business,  an'  bells  an* 
feathers  an'  warhoop  an'  sich  stuff  always  did  get  me.  When 
I  was  a  by  I  trailed  after  them  Indian  shows  regular  an' 
be  gorry,  me  mother  says  I'd  behave  fur  most  a  hull  day 
when  the  show  wuz  in  town,  providin'  she'd  come  across 
wid  the  price  of  a  ticket.  Here  one  of  thim  bloomin'  red 
skins  is  blossomin'  out  as  an  editress.  Be  gorry,  the  world 
do  move  sure,  an'  all  by  Starlight."  Matt  left  his  com 
rade,  stepped  inside,  paid  a  year's  subscription,  took  from 
the  hand  of  Starlight  a  copy  of  "The  Dawn,"  a  receipt  and 
a  queenly  smile.  She  long  ago  had  learned  the  value  of 
correct  language  and  manners.  Matt  soon  found  that  his 
command  of  English  precluded  a  clear  understanding  of  the 
high-grade  articles  published  in  "The  Dawn,"  all  of  which 
had  been  written  by  Indians.  "Well,  I  can't  read  the 
bloomin'  stuff  an'  believe  me  I'm  niver  a  goin'  to  night 
school  to  ketch  up  wid  Indians.  Starlight  an'  Moonlight 
be  hanged"  was  his  final  apostrophe,  as  he  slammed  the 
journal  down  upon  the  sitting-room  table  in  his  boarding 
house. 

Tonto,  who  was  one  of  the  leading  contributors  to  the 
journal,  also  had  acquitted  himself  with  honor.  He  had 
finished  his  course  in  law  and  was  winning  many  legal 
cases  for  the  Indians.  He  would  only  accept  cases  founded 
upon  an  appeal  for  simple  justice.  He  constantly  held  be 
fore  the  people  the  cause  of  justice  for  his  race.  He,  too, 
was  battering  down  prejudice  with  manly  conduct,  and  dis 
placing  darkness  with  light,  and  error  with  truth.  He 
compelled  attention  and  respect  from  the  pale  face.  To 
him  had  come  a  vision  of  better,  nobler  days  for  the  Indian, 
and  he  had  accepted  his  part  of  the  responsibility.  He 
knew  that  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  upon  his  people  and 
that  prejudice  was  giving  way  to  confidence.  He  said  to 
Starlight,  "Dr.  Nachita  is  right;  the  few  leaders  must  hold 
up  the  torches  until  the  masses  arrive.  The  renaissance  of 
our  race  is  at  hand." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   RENDEZVOUS  AT  TWILIGHT 

Dr.  Nachita  returned  to  his  home  broken  in  health.  The 
fire  and  whirlwind  of  former  days  had  all  disappeared. 
Patients  came  and  were  turned  away.  The  doctor  was  ill, 
too  ill  to  see  them.  He  pleaded  continuously  for  Starlight 
and  Tonto,  and  Wawa,  his  namesake.  "Come/'  he  said, 
"come  and  maake  my  home  your  own.  So  far  as  I  know 
I  have  no  relatives  upon  this  earth.  I  adopt  you  all  as  my 
children.  I  long  for  your  presence  each  moment."  And 
so  they  went  to  his  home  and  after  a  few  days  Judge 
Thoroughgood  came  and  the  little  Wawa  was  legally 
adopted  by  Dr.  Nachita.  "I  must  have  a  legal  heir,"  he 
said.  Through  the  long  sleepless  nights  Tonto  or  Starlight 
watched  beside  him  and  buoyed  up  his  strength  with  a  de 
votion  that  was  stronger  to  help  than  any  potion.  They 
held  long  councils  on  Indian  affairs,  and  especially  the 
marriage  of  Starlight  and  Tonto.  "This  I  desire  next  to 
the  general  welfare  of  my  people,"  the  doctor  pleaded, 
"send  for  Judge  Thoroughgood;  have  him  come  at  sunset 
when  the  light  pours  into  my  room  in  a  flood  of  glory;  that 
is  the  hour."  And  so  the  old  judge  came,  and  there  in  the 
lodge  surrounded  by  the  dusky  mementoes  and  the  sad 
Indian  faces  upon  the  walls,  all  gilded  with  crimson  light, 
Starlight  and  Tonto  were  wedded.  Dr.  Nachita  held  the 
little  Wawa  by  the  hand,  and  the  old  nurse  stood  in  the 
curtained  doorway  while  the  judge  with  the  silver-gray 
locks,  slowly  read  the  marriage  service.  When  it  was  over 
and  Starlight  bent  down  and  kissed  the  forehead  of  Dr. 
Nachita,  he  murmured:  "It  is  well!  It  is  well!  The 
future  of  our  race  I  leave  with  you,  my  children !  As 
leaders,  understand,  there  must  be  leaders.  I  am  happy, 
for  I  know  that  you  will  never  flinch  or  falter;  that  you 
will  stand  for  truth  and  justice.  Lead  our  women,  Star- 

118 


THE  RENDEZVOUS  119 

light;  much  depends  upon  their  enlightenment."  And  then 
he  fell  asleep;  but  when  the  first  gray  morning  light  crept 
into  the  room,  after  hours  of  pain,  he  called  for  Starlight 
and  commanded  that  she  should  send  for  the  Indian  friends, 
"those  who  think  as  I  think — call  them  now;  do  not  delay, 
Starlight,  tell  the  friends  to  come  to  me."  Starlight  glided 
from  the  room  with  a  rapid,  agile  movement  peculiar  to  her 
race  when  danger  threatens.  Dr.  Nachita  lay  with  closed 
eyes,  silently  awaiting  his  loyal  comrades,  and  that  specter 
all  meet  some  place  along  the  trail.  At  times  he  dreamed 
of  his  own  tragic  childhood,  of  "being  torn  up  by  the  roots," 
he  had  often  said,  "and  transplanted  into  strange,  new  soil." 
He  battled  with  powerful  enemies,  or  he  climbed  the  zigzag 
path  by  the  mesa  overlooking  the  green  valley,  and  Blue 
Bird  was  beside  him.  He  heard  sweet  voices  singing,  and 
weird  sounds  from  strange  instruments.  He  awoke  and 
called  feebly  to  Starlight:  "I  hear  the  Liebestraum;  I  hear 
it  just  as  Madam  Yetta  played  it  that  night,  with  the  lights 
turned  low.  Wonderful!  Wonderful!  See  that  the 
Indians  get  the  knowledge  that  will  enable  them  to  ex 
press  the  music  in  their  souls — it  is  there,  understand." 
By  and  by  the  Indians  came  one  by  one,  and  stood  with 
bowed  heads  beside  his  bed.  He  called  each  name  and 
greeted  them  with  a  faint  smile.  "Take  me  into  the  den, 
Starlight,"  he  whispered;  "I  must  see  again  those  sad  re 
minders  of  our  past.  I  must  see  them  again;  I  will  be 
better  then."  Great  strong  arms  lifted  him  tenderly  and 
slowly  bore  him  into  the  lodge  filled  with  dull  color  and 
somber  shadows  and  faded  treasures.  In  one  corner  of  the 
great  davenport  Starlight  placed  an  armful  of  soft  pillows, 
and  there  the  Indians  laid  him  down  with  a  tenderness  that 
brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  the  old  judge  who  was  wait 
ing  there  with  Tonto  and  the  child.  When  Judge  Thor- 
oughgood  bent  low  and  clasped  his  hand  Dr.  Nachita  asked : 
"What  of  the  future?"  "I  see  a  bright  sky,"  the  judge  re 
plied.  "Devotion  such  as  yours  will  not  pass  unrewarded; 


120  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRAIL 

it  wins  respect;  it  is  a  power  for  good;  it  clears  away 
prejudice;  it  makes  the  future  bright  with  hope."  Dr. 
Nachita  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  as  though  asleep.  Then 
suddenly  he  raised  himself  to  a  half  upright  position  and 
said  in  low  tones,  "Come  close,  my  children,  Wawa,  Star 
light,  Tonto,  come  close.  My  mantle  falls  upon  you.  Never, 
never  give  up  until  our  race  is  free  from  every  bar  to 
their  progress.  The  Indian  Bureau,  understand,  means 
segregation;  segregation  means  deterioration.  Tell  the 
Indians  to  compel  recognition  from  the  world  by  honest, 
earnest,  faithful  effort."  He  turned  to  the  child  sitting  be 
side  him.  "If  only  I  could  pass  on  to  him  my  experience, 
my  knowledge  and  my  belief  in  the  future  of  my  people — 
he  is  the  morning,  I  am  the  night — he  comes  as  I  depart. 
I  cannot  see,  come  close,  Starlight."  They  knelt  beside 
him — Starlight  and  Tonto.  They  took  his  cold  hands  and 
pressed  them  against  their  warm  breasts.  He  whispered, 
"Tell  my  people — to  think — my  people — tell  them — to 
think — tell  them  to  think — understand — to  think — "  His 
head  sank  down  into  the  soft  pillows.  The  little  group  of 
Indians  stood  in  silence,  trembling.  They  heard  Starlight's 
low  sobbing  but  they  could  not  see  her  face,  for  night  had 
fallen  and  the  room  was  dark. 


